The young and bold Sir Lancelot
Had shunned the lady of Shalott
And all the swooning maidens, dear.
His heart belonged to Guinevere.
And were she not to Arthur, wed,
She'd have the heart-sick knight instead.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad sir Lancelot du Lac.

When first he came to Camelot
The orphan knight, Sir Lancelot
Did prove his worth to Arthur's Court
In jousting, and such noble sport
And with his charm and courtly grace,
His confidence and handsome face,
He won the heart of Guinevere,
And so he found his heart's one fear.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.

In tournaments and deeds of arms,
He never fell to earthly harms.
His Lady's scarf about his breast,
He held aloft his knightly chest
And for her honor always strove,
And worshiped her with courtly love.
But she is wed, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.

Beneath a tree, the young knight slept
And one day, four queens on him crept,
The chief of them, Morgan Le Fay.
With magic, they stole him away.
A choice they begged of him to make,
That one of them his heart should take.
But love is strong.  They had no luck
In tempting Lancelot du Lac.

When Melegans stole Guinevere
A cart, Sir Lancelot did steer
To reach the hold where she was kept,
Then toward the treacherous knight he leapt.
He bested him with slash and blow,
But to Sir Lancelot's great woe
His Lady simply laughed in jest
And saw no honor in his quest,
For he arrived upon a cart.
Thus, broken was the young knight's heart,
And in a rage he left the place.
He longed just for his Lady's grace.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.

The young and bold Sir Lancelot
Had shunned the lady of Shalott
And all the swooning maidens, dear.
His heart belonged to Guinevere.
And were she not to Arthur, wed,
She'd have the heart-sick knight instead.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.

So when he quested for the Grail
He made a promise he would fail.
He said he'd not love Guinevere,
But as he spoke, he shed a tear.
He knew one day their love would end
The table round, and hurt their friends.
So when this promise he did break
The land of Camelot did quake.
For Agrivan, King Arthur, told
His wife did love Lancelot bold
And Arthur sent her to the pyre
To end her sinful love, in fire.
But Lancelot, his queen, did save
And Arthur fell into the grave
And all the knights of Table Round
Were torn apart, could not be bound.
And thus the fall of Camelot
Was caused by one Sir Lancelot.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of bold Sir Lancelot du Lac.

In a clearing in the woods, two brothers fight.
They ram each other, wrestle with their pointed crowns.
The winner gains the power and the right
To rule their father's ancient, sylvan grounds
And will have the favor of the fairest doe.
So they lock their antlers, tearing from the start.
The loser has to face the snows alone.
A solitary creature is the hart.
But come the winter, brothers lose their crowns
And in the spring the hope for better years abounds.

The lustre of your silvery eyes
Outshines the winter waters, cold
And has a cool, familiar air
That only snowy blankets hold.
Safe and soothing, blue like ice
That glistens on a glassy lake
In mid-December while at home,
That's showered in white, snowy flakes.

The majesty of winter storms,
The power in the blizzard, white,
Is there, behind those frosty panes
And reveals an inner might.
That cool, familiar, soothing air
That only snowy blankets hold
Is well protected by this gale
When circumstances need you bold.

The powerful, majestic storms,
The blizzards in their wintry might
Are safe and strong, are reassured
By one unfailing, snowy sight.
The mid-December time at home,
The water tucked in glistening flakes,
Reflected in your ice blue eyes
Is soothing, cool, like glassy lakes.

You can't be rough with mice.
If you are, she pays a price
For putting you inside her trust.
She must not see your smile is naught but dust.
So while you have your rowdy fun,
She wants to cower hide or run
Toward her safe and cozy place,
But mice can't outrun dogs and tomcats in a chase.
But you don't care, or you don't see
She's given all her heart to thee.
And so you bat, and paw, and chew,
Because mice are not as strong as you.

You must be strong for a mouse,
And build a safe and steadfast house
Inside a proud and sturdy chest,
On which she might just place her head and rest.
But you don't care, or you don't see
And with you, mouse is never free.

It's a scary thing, to do.
A frightening thing, to act.
Sometimes it's hard to follow through,
And so you wait in bed, compact.

Beyond that door, there is a world of hurt
And the bed is safe and warm,
But on the chair is your coat and big-boy-shirt,
And you have to face the storm.

Sometimes, at night, you see the stars,
You feel the sky is raining fire
While the dull, electric rush of cars
Makes you wish you don't aspire
To freedom
And to love.  Be bold,
And seldom
Will you feel old.

Let the comets grace your skin.
Let the wind caress your hair
And follow down your spine and in
Your chest, and breathe away despair.

Face the lightning on the road
And the fury in the stars.
Leave the safety safe at home.
Give yourself some battle scars.

There's a slow burn.
It starts off as an ember.
First it keeps you warm,
And it's a fond thing to remember.
But it grows.
The air heats and expands
Inside your chest,
And starts to ache, and shake your hands.
Then it slides into your gut,
The thing that slowly burns,
And it writhes around inside you.
Oh it churns.
And at times it jumps.
When you least expect, it shifts.
It slithers toward your throat
And it finds your jaw, and lifts.
There's a thing that burns, so long and slow,
And hides the world in smoke,
And if you wait too long, it starts to sting
And choke.
So at times, you keep it secret.
Oh you hide it, this you learn
With the fear that if you free it
It will twist, and break, and burn.

When the North Wind blows, it howls, it blows
To toss my ship in frigid cold.
The icy wet does chill my breast,
And hardens hearts, both young and old.

When the East Wind Blows, it laughs, it blows.
Its mischief sends my ship astray.
What fancy fun the East Wind hums,
But leaves my charts in disarray.

When the South Wind blows, it screams, it blows.
Such stormy shrieks do scrape the rails.
This wind, with rain, brings numbing pain.
Its screeching voice could tear my sails.

But when the West Wind blows, it sighs, it knows
Its whisper, soft, will gain my trust.
And on voyage long, it sings its song
And gives my ship a gentle gust.

When the West Wind blows, it knows, it knows.