Dear Lancelot
You have took what was mine
and to you I feel it fine
for I do not sit and tarry
on the past that makes us werry.
But that lady in whom you trust
may fill you head with hate and lust
So be careful of that Guinevere
It took me only but a year
To find the pain that lies in her
to find the end, you must concur
That in the end I needed her most
but I had to banish her ghost
Now in your days with love
Treat her well and do not shove
So she may treat you well with all her breath
because, I Arthur, proclaim her death.
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