Upon the farthest bank of legend’s secret lake,
At the very edge of a summer day,
The last long corridors of light, retract.
Bequeathing dusk his brief dominion
Over dreams and magic quests.
And there, upon the mind’s most distant shore
The ephemeral figure of an almost forgotten boy
Stood waiting for Excalibur to rise.


© James Rainsford 2010