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.