Her majesty waited anxiously
In wrinkled, worn robes,
Trunk at the ready.
She rocked back and forth,
Staring at the streak of sunshine
Fleeing under the bottom of the tent.
(if only it was her escaping)
Vazquez peeled the curtain back and peered in.
He lifted an eyebrow and adjusted his glare.
Her head dropped, docile blind obedience.
Swaying, she stared at her feet in the grass.
She blinked once. Twice.
Sighing, she lifted a heavy foot.
(the burden of the olifant)
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