Soliloquy: The counsel

What matters bothers you so, fair lady?
The interim being weighed,
hopes pirch on trees,
ready to flee, at your command.
Art thou pledging allegiance?
Seeking and keeping counsel,
with an ally, of
royal hope and noble having?

In augmenting thy honour,
keep thy bosom franchised.
And hopes, once pirched on trees,
vanished into thin air, like the fog,
which once was there.
Set me up in hope, pray upon
the perfect'st report.

Hush, no more, thine hope will
surely turn into madness!

Originally written: 27 Apr 1997