Couch to 5K, house with road frontage and modest acreage
Its name one which is antient, recipients of much patronage
A cursed line, sadly, if their life is not by their own hands taken
They end up as rawthroated bedlam patients
Place practically quakes, parties everyday, a resident DJ
Two swans, Uther and Igraine, doing poem-inspiring circuits of the lake
A lawn on which a populist magistrate may have set a circus in Roman day
Not quite presidential but, yeah, we redact the names, living pleasant
Peacocks and pheasants, pop-making stops, resultant effervescence
Serfs and peasants way way way out the other end, tending
My groves, look genteel but conceal a grow of potent crow
You know, the most’s the goal
The play’s the thing, the ghost
Above the moon-buttered moat
Demanding revenge oaths.
Alchemisland 
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