Thursday, August 1, 2013

The Girl in the Ivory Tower

The girl, up there, in the ivory tower,
She smooths her nails with scented flowers.
Her curtains are gossamer, for up so high
There's no one who sees, for her to be shy.

There ain't no ground beneath her feet,
She's light as the air of summer sweet.
So she drifts with the wind, in and out,
Sleeps like a feather on rainless clouds.

And when it is dark, she lets down her hair
To merchants, paupers and princes fair.
Candles flicker, fade, burn out,
But nights are longer, colder without.

With tales of courage, of love and sorrow,
Of faithful pasts and Godless tomorrows,
They gift her little boxes of the world out there,
She who is light as the sweet summer air.

Come mornings and she puts the boxes below
Her bed, full of stories from ages ago.
She gathers her pleats and straightens her curls,
Sends for some of the neighbourhood girls.

They drink, they eat, they chat and laugh,
Some complain of the insolent staff.
She sings with them the songs of ivory towers,
As she smooths her nails with scented flowers.

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