Slate, Ore, Sword, and Fire

Slate, ore, sword, and fire,

in the of the land of our fathers,

where the heart of the red dragon beats,

where the tables are round and the hills are green.

Every stone, pebble and sand grain,

remember the paths of your wandering footprints,

every leaf, petal and grass blade,

shine brightly in the morning sun and evening rain.

A gentle Druid whisper in the Autumn wind,

awaken the bard who begins to sing,

a single drop of tear from Gwenevere,

brings an offering from the Lady of the Lake.

Arthur, my king, the time has past but you are not forgotten,

all the fascinating stories, enchanting tales, and timeless legends,

when the night is dark and the air is cold,

we sit around the fire under the stars and chant thy name.

When I was just a child,

I read about you again and again,

wishing I could touch the Excalibur and breathe the magical air,

now I am really here, I am finally here.

I tremble, I dance and I roam the mountains,

following the trails of the unicorns and the sound of the springs,

I live in the realms of the mage and dreams of Merlin,

I picked up your sword, renewed and forged again.