Elegy for the Queen (of Hearts)
They sat through candlelight so starry eyed
in Europe's lovely Jewel; lonely Paris.
He asked four words; his stolen heart's demand:
"Will you marry me?" She did whisper, "Yes."
Her lips then lingered on his olive hand
and with that kiss their sorry fate was sealed.
'If,' 'if only,' such words are naught but sand;
upon that kiss did rumored lips depend.
The die was cast, the spiral flashed and wheeled.
Too soon they fled beyond all care or woe
from tabloid pages turned in shame, to legend.
No more glance at worldly cares will she bestow.
They sat through candle light so starry eyed,
so unaware the twists of fate; the nations cried.
No more the blighted bells will her hands ring;
the social ills of Aids, Mines, and Poverty.
Without her voice, we'll never better sing
and fill her subjects hearts with love to rally.
Her like in this sad life we will not find.
Could we return to that one fateful day!
Could I unwind the ceaseless hands of time!
For love of life I would but beg, Please Stay . . .
For but a year! or even one small hour . . .
to breath again compassion's flaming ember
and cause the people's wealth of love to flower.
We will do well if her we but remember.
Her sons and causes surely pay the cost,
without her loving arms, so sadly is she lost.
The Prince no longer fears the rising son.
His place is safe, the boy no longer rides
to soar upon his mother's silver tongue.
The Queen, she sits within her room and hides
dark truths too sad to share; sad, and too impure.
The Prince looks not behind his Mother's frown,
and does not see his place no more secure
than Mother Queen and monarch's cracking crown.
The Erin leader screamed for "Peace," surprised
while labor claimed the Eire word was true.
It did not last; the cracks too small in size
to make an end of bloody Erin stew.
For naught, such drunken sacrificial cost.
Upon that wicked web of war she has been lost.
© D. Winter
September 3, 1999, 2001