The fields of auric cereals dance in the summer breeze.
The skies are brimmed and teaming with undulating billowy blackness which gives way to grey and white and patches of blue.
A prisoner could be I perceived,
Or a corpse, in a steel casket meandering its way through this countryside,
But though for the uninitiated this they see,
My voyage, rife with blessing and hardship, shall never I deride.
I am not a prisoner, but a noble, borne upon the strength of fire breathing dragons which pull along my carriage.
As in myth and whimsy a young Pendragon united the disparate kingdoms of the land,
Or our David, brave and belovèd of the Holy One, unified different clans within his hand,
So too am I a king in gestation, waiting for time and place to emerge,
My kingdom is the world and my banner is love,
My buckler the blessing which streams from above,
Which allows me to tap a well of strength
When the world chooses darkness and I the light,
And gives me the power to, at great length,
Continue to love and to lovingly fight.