By Thomas Adams (Rated G)
‘Tis a very strange thing,
To feel a sense of duty,
More dear than that of king.
Yet knowing still not why
He feels as though he might die.
It’s confusing, perplexing, befuddling even
To focus on purpose as such feelings deepen.
It was at court our eyes first met,
Many others were there,
We had not spoken yet.
Though I conversed with others,
and from you stood apart,
Like foals to their mothers,
To you went my heart.
Though in east Lyonesse you lay your head,
And to the west in Camelot I make my bed,
One evening in court, our eyes met,
And on you was my heart set.
We hardly spoke to each other that night,
and each day since I’ve been out to fight,
Contending against tyrants, might for right
Yet as the months passed, I never forgot
The light in your eyes, the sparkle I saw.
Of admirers surely, you must have a lot
Do they pursue you, as I this war’s maw?
At night in camp, sleepless upon my cot,
I lay wondering, you my restless thought
Would you wait for me, oh Guinevere,
And when I come, relieve my one fear?
In battle, I’m fearless and called Bear,
but in matters of heart, I am but man,
A knight without knowledge to plan.
While I fight Saxon, Visigoth, and Pict,
Will you remember young Arthur, a Prince?
Do you think of me as I think of you?
I may be a stranger, but my heart is true.
Though poets call this “love at first sight”,
I hesitate to use the term.
Love from a glance is not love aright,
A sensation of even the lowest worm.
True love is built, tended, and sown,
From faithfulness and compassion grown.
What I have for you is not wanton or lust,
But a hope to be planted, not lost in dust.