‘Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam,
And Usna’s children died.’ W.B. Yeats
We have built Camelot a thousand times –
piled stone on stone until white towers
gleam in the sunlight – laid white
marble floors, and hung rich tapestries,
sent pennants flying. We’ve played
sweet music there, and peopled it
with dancing damosels and gentle knights,
with broadset warriors, grave queens,
and laughing princesses. Then watched it fall,
towers cracked and broken, princes sprawling
in the dust, and even in our grief
reached out for stones, to build again.
Inspiration from W B Yeats himself, via the very wonderful Jane Dougherty. Day 9 of this anti-NaNoWriMo movement, and we are gathering momentum….