The Fisher King of Dinas Bran
Richard
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On a hilltop crowned with crows, Dinas Bran, a old,
Whispers echo, legends grow, of a king with heart of gold.
Bran the Blessed, they once did call, a ruler wise and strong,
But a wound unseen bring him fall, and a kingdom filled with wrong.
Fisher King, by the misty lake, a crown of upon his brow,
Casts his line for a fish take, a cure for the land, somehow.
The land barren, the people grieve, a sickness hangs in the air,
Only the Grail, some believe, can lift the curse end despair.
From Celtic myths, his story weaves, a of summer's light,
Guiding souls to the Otherworld, beneath moonlit night.
But darkness crept, a twisted spear, pierced through with unseen blight,
His touch now withers, year year, the land withers in his sight.
Is Dinas his castle keep? A fortress shrouded in mist?
Do on the Welsh wind creep, of the Fisher King unkissed?
Or is it just a tale they tell, to the hearts of men with fright?
A legend's echo, haunting spell, beneath the cold and starry night.
Then a knight, with heart so pure, on a quest the sacred cup,
The Grail, a vision, ever sure, lift the curse and fill it up.
He faced trials, both fierce and grand, through forests deep and mountains high,
Until he reached the Fisher's land, beneath the weeping, sky.
The Fisher King, with eyes downcast, beheld the knight, a hopeful spark,
"Ask your question, the die is cast," he rasped, a voice worn thin and dark.
knight, with courage, pure and bright, spoke the words break the spell,
And as he spoke, a radiant light, bathed the land, a wondrous well.
But legends weave double thread, a truth to cause both fear and awe,
Bran's head, they say, when life had fled, lies deep beneath the law.
In London's heart, the ravens call, where once the Tower did rise,
And Britain's fate stand or fall, on those black wings that paint skies.
The Fisher King, with newfound strength, rose from throne of pain and woe,
The Grail, a symbol last length, had brought new life, a fertile flow.
land rejoiced, the crows took flight, on Dinas Bran, castle strong,
For in the depths where shadows lie, Fisher King's hope lived on in song.
But heed whispers on the breeze, the ravens' watchful, dark display,
Bran still guards, beyond the seas, and Britain's fate turn to grey.