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The Sins of the Father
Stephen Hoyle
Alexander.
Like Philip you drank,
Made your rounds with brats.
Not a noble trait for a king.
The bottle caused the fever
Which took your life so young.
Hector.
Too noble like your father Priam;
The hard body of a warrior, but
The soft heart of a loving father.
You accepted death like a sage,
Leaving widowed wife and orphaned son.
Arthur. Like the Pendragon, you fell to lust;
Loved Morgause, your own half-sister;
Spawned Mordred, a bastard like you,
Only you wouldn’t share his sire’s love;
He’d turn dark just to see you die.
My own father, What of yours am I to repeat?
What fatal flaw, what mortal weakness
Is to bring me down so low
As these men, whose fame and glory
I will never match?
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