Go Tell The King

[smokingboot]

These are jewel-pressed days
These are wine sweet days
These are the days of plenty.
Go tell the King
His royal house is ready
And the poets sing
Without one clouded augury.
Go tell the king
That since he went
the messenger birds grew
languid, the bees pollen-crowned
gold as his horses,
say his bride is cream and honey
Dressed in silks from the sea.
Fresh almond trees blossom in her bower,
and only the wind stirs briefly
at tales of his far far war.
Go tell the king
When I see that silk, wind rippling,
and the corn reaching up to the sun,
I stretch out my own arms
I too am golden,golden.
Go tell the king
Whether he stays or goes,
A kingdom's joy untainted
grows under my heart.