~ by Donna Ferguson Dudley
From far and wide the nobles rushed, “Excalibur” to claim,
But it was meant for one who knew not his own princely name.
Arthur, raised as bastard, by a friend of great King Uther
Was through the years tormented by Sir Kay, supposed brother.
But hidden truth was his birthright, as son of England’s king,
And he’d been sent away for fear of what the years would bring,
On wise advice of Merlin, who saw the future’s threat;
Thus babe, for his protection, was banished with regret.
Mere months thereafter, Uther Pendragon fell ill and met his death.
Dukes and Lords disputed right to rule, of king bereft,
So Merlin settled those disputes with test he had devised:
A stone with anvil perched atop, and sword thrust deep inside!
Who’d pull that magic sword, “Excalibur”, from resting place
Was right wise King of England born, and title “King” would grace!
Merlin had been friend to Arthur throughout his growing years,
‘Til Arthur, fifteen years of age, to the fated sword drew near.
As time had passed, strongest had tried, all without success
To pull the sword, “Excalibur”, from its unyielding nest,
And it had languished, ‘most forgotten, in its churchyard home
Since all who’d tried, throughout the years, to defeat had gone.
But Arthur, just a slender youth, from stone the sword did bring,
And took his place upon the throne as England’s rightful king!