
Thy Queen beeth noble indeed
Far better it
To unsheath thy sword
In defense of such grace
Than to cause your nobility
To fall in disrepute
To one
Whose ardor is effortlessly bartered
And through the consummation
Revealed steadfast
Promises
Alas unmoored
Inured
Machiavellian in accord
Dissipated
Driven as dead leaves on a branch
Scattered as it were
To and fro amongst the sober-minded wind