There is within my happenstance
An unshed innocence,
Not rare among those buttercups
Whose sun is fueled by shame.
No matter what the circumstance,
My heart must hie me hence,
For all the quince of Nottingham
Is squandered in my name.
Extant there are no photographs
Of who or what I am,
For they were in the sandwiches
We ate one moonlit night.
Instead my mirror must reveal
The marmaladed ham
That lies atop the tabletop
And stuffs itself with light.
Ay me! What might I do that might
Undo my unfelt pain?
My life must gorge on life, and yet
I sorrow for my mice.
Ay me! The cherubs hunger as
My goods are shipped by plane.
And I must dance with polar bears
Across the shrinking ice.