The Late Queen Was
Never Late |
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| How often she must have slipped away |
| From beside his sleeping bulk |
| To peer forlorn into the night |
| And down into the gardens below |
| And wonder would this waxing moon |
| Harvest yet once again |
| Those dread royal flowers. |
| How often she must have prayed |
| O let it be this time O please |
| Let the heir find the garden within |
| Fertile enough to bloom and grow. |
| How often she must have prayed that prayer |
| To grant she reap her own continuum. |
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| (Copyright © 2000) |
