(a Mayberrie poem)
.
Walking through her garden
she could smell the vegetables
and began to hunger
for some butter-dumpling stew.
It had been his favorite long ago.
She sighed.
Row by row she harvested
sweet carrots and potatoes,
two turnips and an onion -
and over near the wildflowers
parsley and green beans.
All she needed now
was just a little thyme.
.
Pacing in the courtyard
he caught his reflection
in the pond.
What was this king
who loved a servant girl -
his forbidden bride?
Alas, it must secret be
lest they have her head
for she was peasant born.
And now another battle loomed
far across the dunes.
He sighed.
All he needed now
was just a little time.
.
© 2012 Betty Hayes Albright 7-23-2012
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(For links to all poems in this series, and an explanation, please click on the Mayberrie tab at the top of this blog.)
Do you remember the song “Patches” from the 60s… ?
Yes, I do remember that song, Grandfathersky. Can’t remember the guy who sang it…. was it Bobby Vinton?
elyrics.net says it was performed by Dickey Lee … I think they stopped playing it on the radio because of the Romeo and Juliet tragedy thing …
This is brilliant…
Thank you!
Ah, brilliant. I love this piece. (and just realized I echoed an earlier commentor’s ‘brilliant!) =)
Thanks, Stephanie!
As already said…”brilliant”…just a lovely verse.
Thanks, Charlie!
Oh, Betty–love it, love it, love it (and thyme/time)! I just realized yet another common thread between us–your main characters, king and servant girl, share a “forbidden” love, as do the characters in my epic. Whoa–we really are sisters, separated at birth….
I had thought of that too, Caddo. Drawing from the same creative well, it seems! Thank you, glad you liked this. Took a lot of struggle getting it onto paper (and computer) though!
Wonderfully written! (I could even smell the stew as I read your poem.)
Thank you, Fergie!
Who wouldn’t love a woman who could make this luscious butter-dumpling stew?
Probably true, Granbee – especially if all the ingredients came from one’s own garden!
Beautiful again, Betty. I love how the first stanza is so small with such ordinary activity, all about the possible … and the second, about what is so unreachable for her …the impossible. And yet both are so much a part of her life, her story.
Ah, love. There are those who haven’t the faintest idea. Everyone’s loss.