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Protection The north winds had swept through The jagged coast for generations. Never, though, had it punished so severely. Years of calm springs and warm winters were tormented. Days had quickly turned to darkened curtains of waving walls. The sun’s promise could not be felt, So the dark of night became the kingdom’s certainty. Prayers were written so that seasons be shortened. Salvador had risen from the war of children. He stood above his father’s heights. Rosaries shaded the dent in the seasoned armored plate. The squall rapped on the door and the princess twins Held his armored hands one last time, none the softer. As he rose from the rosewood seat, “Protect the king,” they whispered to his hands and He raised them to his breast. The Gale waited outside the door. He walked into the threshold with Clenched fists still coated with the scent of lilies. Under the spell of honor, the spell of dignity; the spell of heir, The protector left. The storm raged in vengeance. From a woven sack he dropped a seed into a dampened plot. The son came up and the hymns were sung. “The king is well, the king is good.” The clouds resided and the tears had ceased. There was rust and erosion and scars On the armored plate, but the lyres of the bosom Still quelled the Mona Lisa.
