The King and the
a fountain in a garden there's a throne without a
king and although roses scent the air there are no
birds to sing.
For all the birds have flown
away to search for hidden treasure. A blind girl
wanders on the lawn, barefoot for her
She feels the daisies with her
toes, the buttercups and marigolds,she hears the crystal fountains
sing - ancient hymns and madrigals.
But silver tears softly fall from her
curtained eyes and 'neath her crown of golden curls
her lips release soft sighs.
"The birds, the birds," she speaks
aloud, "the birds have stolen the King - the
flowers mute, the roses deaf, the fountain only,
Against the empty throne she leans,
pensive, full of woe til o'er her wilting head,
unseen, there arcs a pale rainbowthat fall before
her feet debouching strands of entwined
colour and streaming down the rainbow's
Scores of birds that chirp and
tweet, their feathers all of tinted hues their
beaks all full of glitter and from their throats
spring forth true songs full of fairie
In a cloud of
coloured wings, crimson, gold and silver, emerald
and tourmaline and frosted mint of aquamarine they
lift the gold-haired maid aloft and fly towards the
There, upon a
swan-winged boat the king lays strangely sleeping
and on the mossy, bullrushed banks small animals
are weeping. The blind girl touched his care-lined
face, she touched
his bearded lips, she lay her body next to his and
gently kissed his fingertips.
rainbow-coloured swans swam before the King's
death-boat and bore it through the evening skies -
but to what cosmic bourne they swam, none can claim
to be that wise!
Perhaps the birds
might have a clue but they have also vanished.
Where poetry and magic meet bare truth must
By a fountain in a garden there's a
throne without a king and although roses scent the
air there are no birds to sing for all the birds
have flown away to search for hidden
there is no end, it has no root or
Willowdown Manila. 1997