Come, ye of the subtle, sane mind,
Dive into an ethereal world.
The Scribe of Excalibur welcomes thee,
To hear a mystic melody.
This is Excalibur - the halcyon land,
Where the flowers of prose and poem grow.
This is where the spirit
Of a hermit scribe glows.
No cloak of fear this scribe adorns,
No quiver of guilt it feels.
Pouring a nectar of humble rhyme,
In an artistic silence it heels.
The petty, ardent scribe
Is a diamond in the rough.
It glitters in the amber sun of critique,
It sails through challenging waters tough.
Sit by the patient willow,
On the banks of the cerulean lake,
Like a glorious swan, the scribe sails.
As the moon rises, twilight fades,
Like a peacock, the scribe hails.
Fables, ballads, sonnets, songs,
The scribe of Excalibur will sing to thee,
Of summer showers, autumn colors,
Spring's zenith, and flowery.
Image by Morgan Dragonwillow