I wrote this in an ancient Welsh poetry form called an englyn, it's very difficult, but I think I did a good job; here it isThe Last meeting of Guinevere and Lancelot
She came without shoes, when day had turned night,
She came to right, came to pray,
By the tomb where Arthur lay,
For in life had she done him betrayal,
And oh did all know her bad,
Whilst she took up the nun's clad,
For she was his Queen so pretty and fair,
And flaxen hair was gorgeous,
And eyes blue lacked timidness,
In life as his lass had she loved him then,
But was taken by a kiss,
One she loved and still did miss,
And she thought back as she walked to the grave,
Where Kings lay brave, not forgot,
Her's the bravest of the lot,
Ah, night was chilling As Rhiannon crept,
Through forests she stepped, to will,
Men and beast to her cruel thrill,
And smiled down on Lady Guinevere,
In guilty tear, and nun's gown,
When she learned of his death crown,
And no beast made sound, as if in mourning,
For the Great King, in earth laid,
And his once Queen, a love swayed,
She had taken to the life of a nun,
For it was when she had won,
The heart of Lancelot done,
But turned her mind from such evil bad thoughts,
For even sought now his kind,
She did with lust and love blind,
Oh she had remembered his coal black curls,
Yes foolish girls lovingly,
Weren't match to his curtsey
A knight, his name had been Sir Lancelot,
But why she thought, with such shame,
Did he chooseth the King's dame?
Yes she did love him, even now did she,
But Almesbury she would shove,
To serve the Lord God above,
For how sinful it is when women lust,
For oh they must be so null,
To feelings so sexual,
She laid a wreath of holly on the stone,
For the King's own self beneath,
For Yule, flowers doth not breath,
And said a prayer asking Jesus to save,
And turned to pave in despair,
When at once she heard him there,
And turning back did she observe the man,
Who had began her alack,
And her high Queenship's attack,
Lancelot stood there, his black curls flowed free,
In awe stood she speechless,
And he as likely in this,
"Do leave me be!" She cried finding her speech,
Oh wretched leach, do leave me!"
Oh Devil surely is thee!"
"For I was the fare Queen of Camelot,
'Til came to rot did you me,"
And he back with agony.
"Guinevere, do not speak harshly to me,
For he kept thee as a ewe,
For I did more-so love you,
He came to her closer, footfalls so rough,
But she to scuff, not defer,
Did slap her former lover,
More to come soon
Will add more later Hope you enjoyed