The Death of Llacheu ap Arthur


Where is my son? His broken head shifts in the sands of the lake's bed.

Where is my son? Dark water hides blood flowing cold in the lake's tides.

Where is my son? Fallen apart bones ground with stones at the lake's heart.

Where is my son? Clad in blue mail faced fearsome foes on the lake's trail.

Where is my son? Lost out of reach. Betrayed, alone, on the lake's beach.

Where is my son? His uncle's hand struck false, he fell, by the lake's strand.

Where is my son? He walks no more. Dead, my lord King, on the lake's shore.

Where is my son? He will not wake. All hopes shall rest in this dark lake.


Jo Walton, Summer 1996, Lancaster. Do read and enjoy this poem but do not reproduce it in any way without permission


© Jo Walton (bluejo@gmail.com)

Note on this poem
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