To my Guinevere

I had a dream so fair
she looked as if moon had a daughter
in pale grace fragile as ice
shimmer in the everlasting moonlight
the bitter chill of winter
has only added a ferver
the beauty of a goddess
unmatched by that of her lover
wispers soft as summers breeze
play along the quiet brook
for all the luster of a black hearted diamond
to lay upon the edge of green
Guinevere sits beside her king
the wise man sits purched in corner
longing in his weathered eyes
for only that which is mortal