Poem For John Around The Camp Fire

Arthur with all his knights around
sleep the sweet sleep of time
under the green hills of Avalon;

this we believe; this comforts us.
We’ll call them when we need them..

unless, the sharp cold dark night-mists of time
make men forget to spell their children’s minds.

And not only knights, they say,
but all his court, to rise at time of need;

poets, singers, clowns and wise men too;
all sleep the sweet sleep of those
who know what waking is.

Tread the green hills of Avalon
on a balmy summer night

and the faintest sound of horse
snorting in its sweet-hay sleep

should send you back to tell the tale
to those who must one day know

just when to wake the sleeping court
before it’s then too late: wake,
golden; spurred; invincible like truth.