King Arthur

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Guinevere is a woman in progress;  her life is great, her eyes are budding like cosmos  Her blue jeans swell with love and Arthur's pride    She has doubts about her Elaine, and her Lancelot, and her future husband,
when the king of the britons awoke from his slumber what did he see   he saw druidic groves bulldozed by satyrs in hardhats and overalls getting paid by the hour   bearded druids
In the Sherwood forest where the birds sweetly sing, Flowers are blooming in the morning of spring, Pulled sword from the stone, I was given the throne, I am Arthur, the once and future king.
Cold and wet. Grey pallid stone that is hard and exact. A glimmer, sheen, reflecting refraction of light shines off of a blade. He is a king. No, a boy. Not yet a king. Not a man.
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