The Knights are mostly scattered now;
And Arthur Pendragon long since dead;
A Kingdom ruled by shadows instead.
The castle lies in broken rubble.
The fields, fallow, untended and bare.
Our Flag doesn’t ripple in cold blue air.
The maimed, the stunned, stumble, grumble
Of what was once so full of grace,
And now is gone without a trace.
A grain of wheat is blown by wind,
I seize and touch, and then I see,
Those fields and fields wave goldenly.
Upon the ground, a hunk of brick —
Its one of hundreds, standing tall
And thickly building castle wall.
Beside the fallen orchard trunks —
A rotten apple laced with bees;
Inside that core are apple trees!
Not in warfare, not in plans,
Not in science, not in art,
Not in numbers, not in chart,
Is in your heart.