The King And The Worker
They sat at the table, how mesmerized were thee
the king and the worker,
foretold a shrouded destiny’s key
with goat's cheese and dry bread quickly eaten in kind
by a fellowship’s tasks minded,
mulching trust parted before time.
"Say, Hooo", cried the gate-keeper, as one would expect
turned clouded eyes - to the king's helm,
as damp chambers were met
"Great Gods", moaned the inn-keeper, for one could not hear
mere passions blinded the large feast,
starved inmates jostled their fear.
Undivided was the worker, the king was not surprised
clearly, the fellowship of the Emerald land –
merely shifted glances, not denied
armours were changing witnessed, masked past,
as sheep were seen … herded away
commoner’s guard o'er the masses.
One stricken country divided, Irish soil - north and south
scattered ashes of the children lying alone in the graves,
as hash and potatoes were rationed … to mouths ,
losses should remember, darkened passages to find
timbered, fallen warships and their sailors
warriors soiled with their grime.
Yes, the king and the worker conversed till midnight that day
chiefly- witnessed in the dark, tiny room,
retold the tarnished damsel come ... may
before greed took its corrupt hand, in the coming of events
as the years passed through poverty’s , besieged, daily lives
only Ireland’s leaders could prevent.
Juanita Tice Paulino