He has built me
a castle near
a shining lake,
but I have climbed
a ladder into
the orchard trees.
My ladies in-waiting
and I take
to the branches
like the Italian barons
of old. Graceful
and fleet of foot
we watch the frost
lift, burnt off
by the morning sun.
When he comes
He will find
the tower abandoned
bits of skirt
flying like pennants
in the trees.
Shall I build you a castle by the lake?
Call my old seneschal out of retirement
to order your household?
Down from the mountains-
from the village of his fathers
he'll come, and come smiling
Each of my barons shall send
a daughter to attend thee-
Only the prettiest, most graceful, or clever
I'll tell them.
Then some fine spring morning
when the last frost has lifted,
across the dark moorland
dividing our kingdoms,
myself, I'll come riding
Your bare-pated servant!
I'll step the garden path ginger-
with a basket of garlands-
to ask you out walking