by Rachelle de Bretagne

Created on: April 10, 2009   Last Updated: April 17, 2009

Lords and Ladies, take your places,
For the Queen will soon arrive,
Blushes from their powdered faces,
Dancing keeps their hearts alive.

Ladies, just like butterflies,
And gentlemen dressed in their best,
Were the wedding plans so wise?
It's times like this that stand the test.

As she curtsies, all are viewing,
Waiting should she bow too low,
Watching all that she is doing,
Though she doesn't need them now.

Married to a Lord, this lass,
Finding life a trifle pleasant,
Never wary of her class,
Or conscious that she is a peasant.

Lords and ladies judge her badly,
Peasants shun her now she's gone,
She will love him, love him gladly,
And be there to gaze upon.

As the Queen takes off her glove,
To shake the hand of her, they stare,
How could anybody love,
A girl so young, it's hardly fair.

Elligible ladies hate her,
Lords admire her for her smile,
Even ladies immitate her,
Talking wildly for a while.

Hoping that in recognition,
Someone there will note their faces,
Lords and Ladies, by tradition,
Watch and wait, while switching places.

Waltzing wildly, skirts a-swirl,
Packed into a ballroom hoard,
Wildly jealous of the girl,
Who smiles, as she has found her Lord.

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