An impertinent fluttering of a cloud,
soaring low, along the ground, where kings
slue demons.

Those that beset their Godly realms.
Mother’s children, no bodies, no eyes,
or mouths to recount those days,

when those greater folk stiff in their curtsies,
minding the safety of those beleaguered hearths.

what safety that law had? a king, elected
to slay the enemies of their subjects souls?
Questioning that divinity must have been a crime.