Low, below the maple tree, she lay in her lover's arms,
high, the sun through branches shown, as they enjoyed each other's charms,
here in this leafy bower the world they knew seemed far away,
she'd have given all her gold to somehow find a way to stay,
to live, and love, and play.
But he was just a farmer, and she was a princess in silk,
wed to a man twice her age, the kind that had enemies killed,
hard was it to get away, harder still to find the man here,
but twice had she known his love over the course of this long year,
she knew so little cheer.
Her farmer was so simple, knew little of the noble life,
cared only for the pleasure, since the man had a home and wife.
She knew that she brought danger, could image him on the rack,
but her cold, cold marriage bed kept pushing her to come on back,
to taste what she so lacked.
And so when she rose to leave, and he just grinned and said, "Next month? "
She tried to say, "It must end." Instead, she only said, "Sounds fun."
He strode away and whistled, a smug, happy look in his eyes,
she cursed herself for weakness, knew for the lust she felt inside
that one day he would die.
Wednesday, February 24, 2021