The Lady of the Lake (Mary Queen of Scots)

By -

Her pearls are gone -
They drift out of reach in the green water
Black stones gather on the sand
To adorn another queen.
Her hands are empty -
The sword is held at her
As she reaches the surface,
She is to remain on the rocks.
Despondant and bloody,
She looks into the lake
Her reflection ripples away from the island
And touches the mainland in the distance -
Her magic reaches still.



C. LJ 2020.

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