Wednesday, November 20, 2019

AT THE TOURNAMENT

Since fair maids were thin
On the ground just then, needles
Stood in for them, holding
Themselves straight, flirting
Bright lengths of thread.
Pins kept their heads down
As became the common folk.
The princess stood alone
A twist of embroidery thread
Trailing from her eye. She had,
It was whispered,
Acquired a taste for blood.

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