With loves great strength I pulled a sword from stone
And then so armed lay siege upon your heart,
There to your grace my fealty was fair sworn
Where only death might cleave that troth apart;
Amused you were that I, a self dubbed knight
With blade honed words might vie to be your king;
Mere yesterday I was a craven wight
Strained hand on hilt like timid underling;
Still none could say that sword was not fair won
And none could claim my calling was not true,
For clear in granite there so scribed upon
That proclamation grand for all to view.
With sword in hand I crouched upon a knee,
On your consent, there twice a king to be.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.