Epic

The blade buried beneath the burning. Old hopes lost, back in the lash of battle. One man walks along the winded mount, Turning slowly, the sun-silvered seas Draw his heart horizon-ward, his eyes Focus in search of the lone fluttering sail, The boat that bears his bloodied King Away from heavy war forged ruin and waste, Across the widening waters. Taken to The healing houses of the Holy Isle. Once flowing banners torn down, bitter flood Of his enemies' hate hastening to undo The loyal legacy. One still loves. His fate not to fight hard, and fall At the side of his sovereign Lord. Ordered and honoured to keep heart-hope alive. Over gorse crowned cliffs he carries away The heavy stewardship of the infant prince. His ward now to watch and rear, until His time is full ready to revenge his father's fall.