ix
And so the queen she met her end.
The axe was raised by her dearest friend.
Her son, no son, made the blade descend
To finish the queen of the isles.
The fair, sweet queen, the sorrowful queen,
Oh, pity the queen of the isles!
For more than a year after that I woke shaking every night from a dream of. the great steel shutter chopping May's dear head off. It was bad, and what I woke to was perhaps even worse. What "illusions" made nasty Betsy pity me?
I never found an answer to that question. Perhaps I did not want one.