For those upon the fruitful throne,
We hear beneath the olden stone.
“Sing softly, sisters, of the green,
Of elder roots and crowns unseen.”
When spring awoke in silver shoots,
The orchards bowed with boughs of fruit;
The barley rose, the apples swelled
And overflowing were the wells.
Rivers flowed, from whence unseen
What mortal loss fills evergreen?
The grove would reach the heavens’ door
Their roots dug deeper, evermore
The Queen wore blossoms in her hair,
And took her husbands, fair and fair;
His name was sung, his cup was raised,
His banner hung, his memory praised.
But when the boughs grew bright with bloom,
A cradle stirred within the room.
The court would feast, the bells would ring,
And all the fields would wake to spring.
But hush, my sisters, hush the hall;
The oldest trees remember all.
Their hollow hearts, their knotted hands,
Know what is owed to fruitful lands.
For every seed to them she spoke,
“For every child shall rise like oak”
To wear the crown and greet the sun,
A branch took root where loss had run.
Deep in the grove, where none do tread,
The Queen laid down her fairest thread;
And where the roots drank from the ground,
A nameless seed took root profound
A stone was set, a prayer was said,
The mortals mourned the vanished dead,
Yet the leaves, in whispers green,
Knew the price that grew their Queen.
But still the pears hung fat and sweet,
Still poppies burned beside the wheat;
Still milk-white lambs in meadows played,
And never once the harvest swayed.
And when the final spring drew near,
She knew the grove would quake in fear;
A thousand leaves, a thousand cries,
Rose like a forest through her eyes.
From her breath, from root and thorn,
The only royal, safely born.
A babe beneath the boughs was laid,
A crown of living leaves was made;
Her eyes were dark as woodland pools,
Her fate, a thread of many spools.
The suitors sought her regal name.
Naught to know their children’s fame.
The Queen wore blossoms in her hair
And took her husband's fair and fair
The trees and grass forever sing
“Long live the Queen! Long live the spring!”
And in the grove, where shadows keep
The names no mortal tongue may speak,
A sapling stirred beneath the fern—
And all the grove would shake in turn.
So sing, my sisters, low and slow,
Of all that blooms and all that grows.
For some roots drink of rain and dew,
And some of what the world once knew.
For those upon the fruitful throne,
We hear beneath the olden stone.
"Sing softly, sisters, of the green,
Of elder roots and crowns unseen"
Feedback on other poems -
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/EBZ6SF07hA
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/vrK1vTV6F9