04-03-2019, 11:41 PM
What’s done is done
There is a weakness
in the strongest of men,
and the weakest
are faint vapors at noon.
My husband was a king
too frail to lift a crown
until I put it soaked and slick
upon his head. Macbeth would tell you
that thorns pierced his brow,
but he was no savior. His blood
hid within the veins. I reddened his cheeks
and redeemed this sorry state.
There is a weakness
in the strongest of men,
and the weakest
are faint vapors at noon.
My husband was a king
too frail to lift a crown
until I put it soaked and slick
upon his head. Macbeth would tell you
that thorns pierced his brow,
but he was no savior. His blood
hid within the veins. I reddened his cheeks
and redeemed this sorry state.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson