child poem

darkest, strangest mystery
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
day is done
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
if the red slayer think he slays
i was a goddess ere the marble found me
master of human destinies am i
there is a city, builded by no hand
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
very well, you liberals
i am dying
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale