Amara Tanta Tyri XXI

Before the journey that awaits us all,
No man becomes so wise that he has not
Need to think out, before his going hence,
What judgement will be given to his soul,
After his death, of good and of evil.

And there he now lies
All smeared with own blood,
Unable to breathe
In need of a strut.
Wounded so deeply
Out there in the mud.
Oh, how did this go?
What happened that night?
In winter hollows,
In icy halls.
You sink into mourning
As the star falls.
The flower of England
Passing away.
No one can help,
No more to say.
The good days are over.
See what comes now, as Arthur's dead.