She lay, embedded in stone, deep within the lake Bedivere inurned her to.
Epochs. Progress. Wars and fire.
Water drains.
The grip of savage generations are refused.
Until a noble touch,
Known once and future,
Releases her hope,
And draws her truth.
Copyright © by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.
Discover more of my Aethereal Musings.
Leave a Reply