Behemoth Flame Disaster

We spied grand vistas through the colonnade,

her tresses a flag to the breeze,

stroked bas-reliefs in alabaster,

came to rest at the balustrade.


Is this satin patina a thin facade?

The pallor of love could pass muster

if not for that hint of charade,

pina colada – or cheap lemonade?


Wolf hound to fluffy Pekingese:

Louis Quatorze courts a Visigoth,

a peasant at large in the oligarchy,

silken cloth against drab olive khaki.


“On Guard!” Rapier-tongued we sparred,

“Per ardua” we’d pledged, “ad astra”

– pure filibuster, we’re ill-starred,

enough mularkey, let’s kill it off.


Picture by Five with thanks to Sainsbury Collection

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