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By John I. Blair

The princess in her palanquin
Peeks coyly past a curtain.
Her retinue attends to every need
As they carry her in style.
We worshippers, agog, uncouth,
Surround in adoration.

Concealed behind the veil
Her Graciousness reclines,
At rest on softest pillows
While we prance and bow,
Hoping if we catch her eye
She might allow us half a smile.

All stops for this procession.
The music and the talking hush.
The household hangers-on
Are hustled to their hideaways,
And only songs of praise
Are heard within the space.

But not for long. She burbles,
Squinches up her face,
And starts to cry, to wail.
“So sorry”
Say her Mom and Dad
And tuck a bottle in her mouth.

©2006 John I. Blair

(Dedicated to granddaughter Caitlyn Chuen-Jie Blair.)  

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