All that we buried deep
has now risen to the fore.
The anger, the fury and the rage.
This reveals to me so much more
than your rhymes will ever say.
But my irate young queen, only you
and I know just what the truth has been.
I came to your garden late last night.
How beautiful it seemed, in such a perfect
kind of way.
Everything was so cute and pretty.
But where were the tiger lilies that
nourished our fledgling art?
All that noise and sabre-rattling. Really!
And you threatened me with bloodshed
at the trenches and the barricades.
Swords at dawn, was your cry of war.
But no, I'm not into that. I will just love you
and bring you flowers instead.
Part of the mosaics cycle of poems
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