Lady in Waiting
He was the best creation of the queen and king.
and when she held him in her arms, he cancelled out the sting
of all the ladies in waiting who, noting well her shyness,
spent more time in waiting for his royal highness.
Neither naive or clueless, she tended to her tallying.
As he maneuvered his affairs, she noted the king’s dallying.
And as the young prince gained in years, growing more coherent,
she was his fond protector, his loving, loyal adherent.
One-by-one she noted the ladies, one and all
slip away—no longer there at her beck and call.
And as each lady in waiting went into her gestation,
another lovely maiden appeared to fill her station.
And so young princes flourished, on both sides of the blanket.
The velvet cord for service, when she had cause to yank it,
brought new faces yearly, or monthly at the worst.
Daily, as she faced the mirror, she patiently rehearsed
fond loving glances that she’d use as she addressed her ruler,
all the time retaining thoughts that were surely crueler.
Living every day the charade only for her son,
determined from his day of birth that he would be the one
chosen for succession—the legal royal heir.
She watched him with devotion, with tender lover care.
She’d create a king more loyal. More loving and more tender.
One less bent on conquering the more gentle gender.
By using his royal talents in pastimes much less crass,
perhaps a much more glorious age would come to pass.
More time spent in reigning and less time spent in bed.
More prosperity for all with him in charge instead,
and, in fact, her dreams came true once the king was dead,
her son declared the monarch and securely wed,
with prosperity for all and every subject fed,
this is the happy ending with no more to be read.