Though days are long and nights are longer far,
and seconds rush, though hours slink slowly by:
I glimpse the past's light through a door ajar
as to these golden moments spirits fly.
As hand in hand, loose locked, we smoothly glide,
over pebbled paths and ramble-rutted roads,
no fearsome visions do belay our stride,
for in our hearts there beats a ribald ode.
Of Artur and his lovely Guinevere,
ensconced in castle turrets, flags unfurled:
who bask boldly in love's glow and glare,
about such reflection my memories curled.
Aye, let all mankind gallantly aspire,
to lofty heights like these above desire.