Hearts Rose
She, upon a balcony that overlooks the hedge maze and its heart, the red rose trees. Her expression is radiant as her eyes glide from one tree to the next; alighting upon each and every blossomed bud.
"A sea of trees, sans breeze
in regular rows they grows
And blooming, ever dooming
upon each branch exposed
They grow!
Red Rose!"
Her voice, commanding, regal ... impulsive ... carries through the whole of the gardens. Elsewhere, among the boles, a wretched figure in a yellowish straightjacket whose chest bears a dark crimson blotch in the shape of a heart. It cavorts and twists, restrained limbs clutching a flamingo whose beak holds a bucket, which in turn carries a little stone rake and some tools. He capers and flips, stumbles and rolls among the rows, warbling words to make the guard cards wince...
"That dulcet harlot Alice
a winsome cerulean treason
came upon a gardener's reason
and in her deepest heart a malice
as would surely shake the palace
with its wretched malfeasin'
Got to keep the knees in
lest the hedgehog miss the chalice
It grows!"
He laughs, a wet frothing thing that dribbles down his chin and stains the grass, then suddenly freezes, his gaze caught, eyes narrowing. Sweat beats on the brow. For there, beyond the arch, in the stately cricket park, there stands a royal rose tree, and perched upon its main ways ...
"White Rose!
Oh no!"
A chorus of the bumbles
indistinctly as he mumbles
an aping of a leaping
pawing and creeping
To snatch the errant bloom
lest it come to mark his tomb
Leaping, grasping, fading ... falling
Up and ever down again
Closer to a noisome end
Til at last the traitor
Whose very sight wouldst bait her
Was clutched by clawing finger
and torn to shred asunder
Turned madman from the bole defiant
To dance back through the garden
A stop, a stumble, fallen
at the visage of the warden.
Who majestic in the morning
was fearsome in the warring
of the redness of her radiant mien
As she stood with lip aquiver
the madman felt the shiver
of a most curious deliver
that ran from stem to core
"I'll have their heads,"
she strode, she bellowed
and white guard cards were yellowed
as they hid behind their fellows.
Wroth her gaze which broke the rabble,
so that only in the scrabble
of their terrified retreat
of the quickly fading feet
could be heard the mumbles spoken
from the man forever broken
"My head and heart, I would give them
Hot and steaming on a plate
If I knew that it would please you
though the hour turns so late
But my head and heart are broken
and ground to useless meat
A feast fit for a beggar
could ne'er a Queen satiate.
So I crawl beneath your notice
save your anger and your scorn
I gather up those honeys
and keep them deep within
For your love I am unworthy
Unsuited for the crush
of the heady fire's passion
that rides upon your touch
Better than you ride me
with the scouring lash
and work out your great anger
upon my writhing masque
And so I plant another white rose
The traitor in the wight
The broken foolish gardener
Who takes your hate and spite
Delivered with the loving lash
that I recall each night.
"Guards," her Majesty inflected
"Seize him up and bind him right.
Use the blindfold and the thorn cuffs
and do make sure they're tight.
And when the traitor's hobbled,
take him across the way
and toss him hard upon the cobbles
where he shall surely stay
There shall be a trial upon the morning,
I shall sentence him tonight
Be you quick to give all warning -
I shan't tolerate his plight.
And while he lies there broken,
go to the palace for my lash
50 strokes shall be the token
for such behavior rash.
And there it was, upon the garden
that night before the day
The punishment was given
as it has been every day
Before the courts he was then taken
Where the Queen pronounced his fate
To be forced to tend her garden
from early morn til late.
"A sea of trees, sans breeze
in regular rows they grows
And blooming, ever dooming
upon each branch exposed
They grow!
Red Rose!"
Her voice, commanding, regal ... impulsive ... carries through the whole of the gardens. Elsewhere, among the boles, a wretched figure in a yellowish straightjacket whose chest bears a dark crimson blotch in the shape of a heart. It cavorts and twists, restrained limbs clutching a flamingo whose beak holds a bucket, which in turn carries a little stone rake and some tools. He capers and flips, stumbles and rolls among the rows, warbling words to make the guard cards wince...
"That dulcet harlot Alice
a winsome cerulean treason
came upon a gardener's reason
and in her deepest heart a malice
as would surely shake the palace
with its wretched malfeasin'
Got to keep the knees in
lest the hedgehog miss the chalice
It grows!"
He laughs, a wet frothing thing that dribbles down his chin and stains the grass, then suddenly freezes, his gaze caught, eyes narrowing. Sweat beats on the brow. For there, beyond the arch, in the stately cricket park, there stands a royal rose tree, and perched upon its main ways ...
"White Rose!
Oh no!"
A chorus of the bumbles
indistinctly as he mumbles
an aping of a leaping
pawing and creeping
To snatch the errant bloom
lest it come to mark his tomb
Leaping, grasping, fading ... falling
Up and ever down again
Closer to a noisome end
Til at last the traitor
Whose very sight wouldst bait her
Was clutched by clawing finger
and torn to shred asunder
Turned madman from the bole defiant
To dance back through the garden
A stop, a stumble, fallen
at the visage of the warden.
Who majestic in the morning
was fearsome in the warring
of the redness of her radiant mien
As she stood with lip aquiver
the madman felt the shiver
of a most curious deliver
that ran from stem to core
"I'll have their heads,"
she strode, she bellowed
and white guard cards were yellowed
as they hid behind their fellows.
Wroth her gaze which broke the rabble,
so that only in the scrabble
of their terrified retreat
of the quickly fading feet
could be heard the mumbles spoken
from the man forever broken
"My head and heart, I would give them
Hot and steaming on a plate
If I knew that it would please you
though the hour turns so late
But my head and heart are broken
and ground to useless meat
A feast fit for a beggar
could ne'er a Queen satiate.
So I crawl beneath your notice
save your anger and your scorn
I gather up those honeys
and keep them deep within
For your love I am unworthy
Unsuited for the crush
of the heady fire's passion
that rides upon your touch
Better than you ride me
with the scouring lash
and work out your great anger
upon my writhing masque
And so I plant another white rose
The traitor in the wight
The broken foolish gardener
Who takes your hate and spite
Delivered with the loving lash
that I recall each night.
"Guards," her Majesty inflected
"Seize him up and bind him right.
Use the blindfold and the thorn cuffs
and do make sure they're tight.
And when the traitor's hobbled,
take him across the way
and toss him hard upon the cobbles
where he shall surely stay
There shall be a trial upon the morning,
I shall sentence him tonight
Be you quick to give all warning -
I shan't tolerate his plight.
And while he lies there broken,
go to the palace for my lash
50 strokes shall be the token
for such behavior rash.
And there it was, upon the garden
that night before the day
The punishment was given
as it has been every day
Before the courts he was then taken
Where the Queen pronounced his fate
To be forced to tend her garden
from early morn til late.