I wait for you in your palace
My Queen
This shining white Palladian perfection
That is all that you are
But you say
“You don’t know me”
And you mean where you think you live
In these slums of limitation
Hard baked soil walls
And damp bare earth floors
Of your imperfections
But I only see you
On the hill above the smokestacks
And compost fires
In your temple of joy, smiling
Dancing round and round
On the terracotta tiles