Lancelot III

He lived in the woods as a farrier,
let his hammer ring,
but otherwise observed a strict silence.
His silence rang in the quiet of the day
as he worked.

He drew back from touch
in the way a horse shies away.
Life had been too much
and, in consequence,
too easy to be shamed.

It was in the way that he worked
that you saw his skill
and the strength his body still retained;

once used to kill,
now employed in the trimming of hooves
and of driving nails
into hooves of the horses he shod.

His days simply ran together.
Horses became
the companions in life he found needful,
joined one on one,
in much the same way he had fought.

But never again did he ride
and it caused much talk:
how a man who spent days shoeing horses
would take evening walks
with not so much as a sandal.

He had suffered much,
so constructed a hutch of denial
beside the stream
that had carried his life like a leaf.

With respect to grief,
he was now past even forgetting,
letting armor rust
and his hair grow wild in a tangle.

There were no more angles,
no swordplay, no fights to be waged.
What he cooked, he ate,
but never more than a little.

Perceived as simple,
he was comfortable only with horses.
There were some who said
he much preferred horses to men,

treating them as equals,
and talking as a man to a friend,
or as lovers talk
quietly in bed post-coital.

He was known as gentle,
and nobody asked him his name.
just called him "Smith."

It was thought a shame
that one day in early spring
when the first buds sprang,
he walked off
with no stick and no pack.

People thought he'd be coming back
with a horse gone lame.
But he didn't and he didn't
and he didn't,
until it came to be known who he was
and it mattered
though it shattered myth.

So, the myth became
that, when Arthur reappears,
Lance will come back,
take his place beside the throne;
and the two will rule, all battles won
and absent
the distraction of women,
especially one.