The Lines Of Succession

Late afternoon shadows; Clouds are hurrying towards The far horizon. Dying piano note, A plaintive ghost. Ripples of escaping sunlight, Cavorting thru the open spaces. The princess who lives here Wandering thru the maze of chambers Touching things absently. A reliquary of once loved Playthings, lies forgotten. A wispy spindle of melancholy clings, Silkens, and follows her movements. Then starts up the low rushing wind, At first just a breeze, but Becoming fiercer by degree Finding its way to the entrance- Where nothing else could ever pass before: She has eaten the pomegranate seed The enchantment is irreversible; A child spirited into Deeper substrates of being. She has lost the old kingdom But she will rule in the next.