Milkmaid

By Peter Austin

“Did you sleep well?” asked Her Highness,
Of her blinking, bleary guest.
“No, ma’am: something hard, beneath me,
Dispossessed me of my rest.”

“Fetch the prince! Prepare the wedding!
Tell the king of my success:
After years of fruitless searching,
I have found a true princess!”

(Who, in fact, was just a milkmaid
With a talent for deceit,
And a yen to see a people
Genuflecting at her feet.)...

Never was there such a wedding
(And there hasn’t been one since),
Though it rang a rotten life in,
For the consort of the prince —

Judging marrows, touring sawmills,
In a silly suit and hat;
With the wives of foreign statesmen
Swapping chit for hollow chat,

Till she wished to God almighty
She was sitting on a stool,
In her fists a pliant udder,
Somewhere silent, dim and cool!