I could run
The sword
in my hand
heavy - cold - stones inlaid feel on my palm
across the bridge of the fingers - calloused numb
It is cold on these rocks
The mail is heavy
He wants me to throw it to the lake - it's written on the blade
cast it away
Could I be king
Raise this to heaven and sit at the table
I see the crown - lowered to my scalp - it sits
everyone falls to their knees - the coin show my face
It is night
The rock is slick with green
Sigh the thought
Would I could throw the might away
I shall sit and contemplate the shoes needed
to outrun myself
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| Winchester Round Table |
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