The last of the Arthurian times.

Sleep no more

old age creeps on legends lost.

The Arthurian legend

has been declared

dead and buried,

the armour is all but rusted,

the spirit of the knights

in hearts are forgotten.

The Holy Grail I rise

to my lips has

evaporated with the dream.

The Lady of the Lake

has Parkinson's

unable to lift the sword,

and all the water 

is all but siphoned.

King Arthur has dementia;

no longer will the tales be read

around what was the round table;

the wood borers have turned

to piles of dust.

Sir Lancelot rides on 

his trusted rocking horse

with MS.

Merlin has had a stroke

of bad luck while

Morgana lies in a nursing home

a withering wreck.

Guinevere had turned agnostic

now the queen b***h is dead

a neglected statue stands in the park. 

While the brown creaking knight of rust

Sir Percival apparently lost

has retired from looking for the cup,

he searches for his walking stick instead.

Long live the ...um....um

Long live the rat!

Or is it Kat!