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- - - -
To the gardens. . . of celebration!
- - - -
As the birds chirped,
the sunlit golden,
the merry cries of 
glee, for upon this
day a proclamation
of love ever-after.  Though
ne'er yet had the 
splendor been sighted,
jestered by many a perchance
of foolish folly,
a fellowship to the King.
Unbeknownst, a 
yield to the forbiddance
of Hecate's personification
and a dire love of
familiar waft.

"For thee, upon the 
hour of striking,
our quartet, profound,
still-born, the 
forfeiture lag, our 
gentile courtship,"
a voice of princely charm 
did vesper.
"Taken aback, my 
blossoming serenity,
tears of burden and 
crying shame, the 
kingdom and its
dungeon," Geinere's 
essence declared.
"What'st thou speak of?"
The sentiments of a 
conceited King.

Geinere, her mind
ailing, fever and 
nausea coarsened 
her.  Sorrowful 
thoughts of arrogance
and its unquenching
tale.  Tragedies and 
the grievances there
upon, for whom so
yet to embark.
Tears began to 
stream down poor 
Geinere's flush cheeks.
Her soul tarnished
amidst the excitement
of triumph and the 
beckoning woes of
peasant parry royalty.
This dreadful day
lacking of divinity.
For there no poorer
game of betrayal
and scarred virtue,
than this sorrowful eve. . .
of bitter scorn, 
and hateful deceit.  

For a night
of beggar's delight,
the handsome prince
Alarumdives, maiden
Geinere, and a celebration 
aye the more kisses 
pricked ne'er a secret 
scurvy.  Hence,
a hidden barbaso,
royalty betaking an
ensigns way of lechery
to those of lower 
chaste, welcoming a 
jarrago of arousal,
silence. . . mischievous
silence, hastened only
by a King made bitter.
For his son's charm
and admiration, he
would pronounce his 
demand for respect.
For surest upkeep his
pride and majesty, 
an undertaking of 
bane, as the waves 
of splendor, owe.
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