Treasure Island

David McLansky

(5/24/1944 / New York City)

The White Ship


(1) My Queen Asleep

Aroused by movement in the room,
I awake again in wonder,
To see the aide move round her bed,
My wife, weak breath, aslumber.

Two weeks she's lain,
My sleeping bride,
At peace without protest,
I vigil to her bier, bedside,
Her Prince on patient quest.

So pale she is, her cheeks so white,
The sheets tucked round her, drawn and tight;
She who couldn't stand blankets on,
Sleeps shrouded in the waking dawn.

Now she lays deaf to my kiss,
My prayers, my touch of her frail wrists;
The sleeping monarch of my heart,
Oh fragile breath, do not depart.

Submitted: Saturday, March 02, 2013
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