Four squadrons flew to separate lands,
Twenty strong with tooth and claw
Message dropped in many hands
On reading, sons fell to the floor.
Son of stone, with name Tolock,
King of southern peaks,
Stood up, surveyed his land of rock
Crushed the note and began to speak.
‘Loyal citizens of my state
We have been called to serve our Lord.
We, with brothers of other traits
Must journey far and carry sword.’
‘Leave your daughters, wives and mothers
Great rewards come from these toils
We go to fight with weaker brothers
And to the victors go the spoils.’
This met with cries of misery
Of deep despair and bitter sorrow
But Tolock gave his last decree
‘We march to war, at dawn tomorrow!’
First light next day, columns marched
Eighty thousand men of stone
Paced and spread through desert parched
On north wind distant screams were blown.
For many months and many miles
These soldiers walked through day and night
Keeping rigid, braced in files
With swords in hand, prepared to fight.
When they reached their journey’s end,
The island their Lord was upon,
A land that they could not comprehend
They had reached the holy Avalon
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Submission Name: Summons
