Thursday, June 25, 2009

Paean to the Quean

(for Lutibelle)

My heart follows

the barbed lobs

zinging across the court

excitement and angst

curdle my blood

These are my brethren

whose arrows intend to wound

whose slings intend to cripple

The Quean sits in the new ark

upon an eastern shore

fielding data

from all sources

Emissaries assert

no one else spares

the time or interest

to sort and file

who’s gained entry

who’s newly annointed

who’s MIA

Occasionally her majesty

sends out requests for

film recommendations

just for fun

The Quean has served

her subjects like a royal conscience

soft as a whispered confidence

purred in silken tones

across the network

deputized to makes things

right and make things

happen and save a

pretty penny to entice

new members to the kingdom

This Quean holds gentleness

within her breast and

faith in God within her soul

She lays the truth out

like a fine field of clover

inviting all to tread softly

lest truth be crushed

under the weight of

those armed with

the last word

the final pronouncement

of right and wronged

Joy, Joy, the Quean encourages

Love, Love, the Quean espouses

All the fielding, sorting and filing

making, righting and saving

only matter if we learn to dance

to the music of the galaxy’s stars

connected by our rainbow feathered boas

hugs and kisses for one, for all.

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