A raven flies quickly
Adjacent to a storm
That gathers, so darkly
Over Glastonbury Tor
The site where Arthur was laid
Next to Gwenifar
His queen in death
Lover in life
They sleep still
Though hidden elsewhere
For the day when
Arthur will breathe
Air born
Of Albion’s sky
The raven knows
To go to the Abbey
Standing in memory
Upon a hill
Covered in mist
So beautiful
Looking like an island
That some called
Avalon
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