Curse her in the Oak
dreamed 2009/9/28 by Wayan
Tonight, Victoria is Queen again, and young.
And so am I: Rose, an English girl,
pale, frail, blonde-curled. My family
lives in a rural county; but no
ignorant rustic I, nor mine; our line
scholarly, rooted, renowned (well, locally).
But Pappa taught me all; Mamma died young.
By nature I am shy; but three years ago,
Long was I patient with these Lost Boys'
petty thefts and pranks; but got no thanks.
No repentance. Enough! They think me a shy
English Rose; their crimes have slowly grown.
Past time to show Ann's ragged runaways
my Land-Protective thorns. Therefore
I don my stoutest mudding-boots and long
So I raise my chin and chant
to the tortuous Oak--
and unseen vap'rous flock
of child-ghosts, crows
truant and unschooled
as curling candle smoke:
"As County Protector,I'm shocked at my own severity.
'Twas all unplanned; the spell
burst forth, white, unstoppable
as a typhoon-swell. Such cry
is binding. If I do spy Ann
I must attack! Not merely to retain
For song, in this pale Realm
Well--'tis done. For good or ill.
A couple of Ann's riper minions drop
out of their oak, acorns loose with rot.
A girl lands afore me; over her head
a grubby hood. She moves as if to doff--
I snap "You had better not be Sowanseaux!
Inhale relief. For I'm yet unprepared
The tree fades out as deeper doubts
halo my head like a horde of gnats.
For I'm a wretched judge of faces!
What if I mistake, see Ann in some innocent?
Near as dire: what if I fail
What good is a Protector who
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