A Bridegroom Brings His Bride Home

A minister of state navigates
Peasants and citizens travel on the same road
In box carts, eating dry bread and drinking ersatz coffee
Round faces at the window fleeing perpetual turmoil
They reap death from those fields. It is winter now
And they endeavour to escape it. And these
Are the rough hewn rocks that will be her foundation

The Black Stallion physician tends to her
The princesses play with a solid gold ball, batting
It from hand to hand. Bathing in cool fountains
There is a grand brass band. She meets the servants
From scullery maid to butler, from cook to housekeeper
Downstairs is where they dwell
The inhabitants of that country remain a mystery

The maids’ heads bow as if they are ashamed of their existence
The doors of the bridal sweet swing wide open

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