In twilight’s chill, there wafts the sad lament
of one whose Camelot will be her doom.
She drifts - like fall to winter - to her death.
She whispers, as her candle light is spent,
“Oh, Lancelot, this boat will be my tomb!”
and longs for his warm kiss with her last breath.
Written 11/02/13 by Andrea Dietrich for Nette Onclaud's SENSES FOR A SESTET Contest
* The lovely painting this poem is based on for this challenge was itself based on
the Victorian ballad "The Lady of Shalott", written by Alfred Lord Tennyson.
Furthermore, Tennyson's ballad was loosely based on a 13th century Authurian legend
about a woman named Elaine de Astolat; thus, my title for this Italian sestet.
also for PD's Latest Poem contest