‘an I returned, as few foretold —
after all, he was the once and future
while I was merely a handmaiden
and much maligned at that —
I went straight to our beloved spot,
At Cadbury, our Camelot, expecting
A roof at least, perhaps my garden,
O’ergrown but at least visible.
Instead, these low walls are all that remain.
I clamber on to them to look around
And see far below me hundreds of roofs.
The town has grown and come closer.
Cows graze in our midden and stare
At me with sombre liquid eyes.
Perhaps strangest still, I am alone.
Were I to head down this rocky path
To the village and state my name,
I imagine I’d be locked away for a madwoman.
Should I wait for him? Perhaps.
Better to square myself to the task at hand,
Muddy my skirts and begin.
