August Challenge -- Birthdays: Poetry/Songs
Young and Foolish
Mal turned one-hundred-and-thirty the same year that the Duchy of Borogravia was dissolved.
In the pubs and cafes, people were shouting old Borogravian folk songs back and forth, or declaiming ‘Ode to the Republic’ - which had been based largely on the Borogravian national anthem, and had been written by some bugger named Hans who was now Borogravia’s official poet laureate - in drunken voices.
“Ode to the Republic,” one would begin, and then giggle into his beer.
“Awake! Oh nation new-born!
Greet the sun that rises o’er the mountain!
Breathe the sweetness of the apple blossoms,
Oh, sons of the Motherland, and drink the wine that
From her bosom flows!”
Then someone else would order another round and it would begin again.
Mal and Polly watched the proceedings from the bar.
Mal sipped her cappuccino.
“It really is quite good, you know,” she commented.
Polly looked at her.
“I trust you mean the coffee?”
“What? Of course not. Coffee? Ghastly stuff. Never touch it. I meant the singing. Isn’t it marvellous?” Mal grinned her wicked, sharp-edged grin.
“Ah, yes,” Polly responded, her brown eyes twinkling. “How could I have thought otherwise?”
Mal sighed, setting the over-sized mug on the table. She leaned over and kissed Polly’s cheek, sweet and chaste - shorthand for ‘I love you, don’t ever change’.
“You’re not getting sentimental in your old age, are you?” Polly asked, with a smile.
Mal ignored the ‘old age’ comment, knowing that by vampire standards she was still very young. Young and foolish.
She glanced sidelong at her beloved, taking Polly’s hand.
“What, me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Surely, you must be joking.”