Poetry: The Book of my Enemy — The Lady in Mourning at Camelot | clivejames.com
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The Lady in Mourning at Camelot

Before the tournament began
She walked abroad in sable sack:
Embattled knights rang hollow when
They tapped each other on the back
And pointed
(Get the one in black)

All plumage is but camouflage
To shapeliness, this lady knew,
And brilliants shame the lips and eyes:
Simplicity, not sadness, so
Became her
(Check. She stole the show)