Breadcrumb #383


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.

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