A Madness of Marigolds

A madness of marigolds cascading light the garden gate, a painting to protect one from the savages of truth an obsession with brush strokes irises laden with weeping desire changelings in poppies granite jawed from a hunger moaning with the all forgiving night come into the gloom spare not thy pen nor still the rustle of skirts along the garden path a masquerade begins behind the golden masques flattering gazes skin aglow with uncommon beauty oh sweet wayward child princess of the tower sing out loud at midnight thy coil of grief unfurling in the sacred arms of time.