Flowers

She wove a garland out of flowers she picked from my garden And placed them in her hair, and called herself a queen Of the fair, and I almost believed her God, how could I not? I could have met her in the forests And my mortal mind simply forgot You'd think eyes like that could enchant You'd think a voice like that could bewitch How could skin like that not have magic to warm it? How could love like this be mundane? She would've been danced between the trees Or sat in front of an enamored court On a thrown of thorns and leaves Whispered to the wasps, commanded the bees Serving honey and wine and bloodied meat But she's in my garden Only grass to seat her My flowers, grown for her No queen but mine, self appointed In humble coronation How lucky I am to be her subject How lucky I am to be hers