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Like water lilies in dewdrop shallows
we float across this way,
surrounding every second's passing
as onward marched the day.
But I never hurt them, they or you,
were we to be sinners now
up on the shadow'd steps
or down the cobbled alleyways
and passageways, wherever they would meet.

Would I to be your prince, give leave to those
who followed every step?
No matter what the bastard called,
there'd be no ground to give
as inch by inch by sapid inch,
he'd take what we would claim
and cast it out into the street
for me to lie, bare, lame;

Rue and acacia, handfuls there
on the copper-plated steps.
Marigold and chestnut here,
would mark this one chance passing.