Majesty.





The sheep in this muse of a day,
fair love our way,
mighty in our equality,
hope is all,
never did we fall.

The thread spun in India,
cakes from Brum,
crystal from the ancient grove,
sweet service our treasure trove.

I picked up the ticket to the ball,
invited the commonwealth
and the national health,
the sailing seagull called.

So dance with the children,
party in the fen,
all is sister charity,
forgiven again.

Boadicea, Victoria and Elizabeth,
well met,
we raise a hearty cheer,
for free and thee,
the comfort of the tree,
all beasts fed,
remembrance of those gone before.

All is service and majesty.

A good day for poets,
as I sew my lace gown for the rose bowl,
all's well,
all's well,
the casting of the healing bell,
an end to hell.


The merry players home again.

~