The Queen Returns
The Queen Returns
Through dusty floors I drag
this faded ermine cloak.
Mosaic windows hold back the light
but not enough
The matted, grubbiness shows.
Royal blood ,thin as death's eyelids
slither in my dark bent shape.
This sharp flinty kingdom has lost its friend.
Yet... somewhere, not near,
church bells are fiercely sounding
footsteps clatter in my house of stone.
“She comes ! She comes !”
a cry of hope rings down in the street
and my old eyes now shine in the scattering gloom .
“The queen ! The queen !”
A quickening pulse beneath this hood of shame
and this cast-off robe of offense
discarded on the chilly flagstones,
lies as a conquered beast,
till her feet, warm and strong
chase away this dust of death.
