Her Majesty sits at the door, waiting,where the jamb meets the floorThere she sits, waiting andwaiting and waitingShe stretchesHer Majesty paws at the door, high,reaching for the gold knob,the bright gleaming handle on the closed door She stretches,and then she settles, and she sits again,waiting at the doorMoments later, she cries;she turns and criesHer Majesty’sContinue reading “Her Majesty Waits and Waits and Waits”
Chris Bevens | pedalpoet 