the broken altar where she was crowned
cannot bide the mists
or little else that she had found in life
or reckoned on.
yet something regal lingers here and
fraught with yellow leaves that cannot
stay or little else besides, assay.
the air will change.
the seasons more so, given time.
ah Mary Stuart cry these shadows, chide
they us and little else besides
as if in weeping they would
be music somehow and survive;
where we thought to find
little else than semblance
and more now than regret
mary angela douglas 26 november 2013
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