The farms came dressed in battered ends of harvest wheat, silver silos (four buttons
to a sleeve), and at the neck, a brooch of cloud, alabaster over
shadow. Two rivers reconnoitred at a town well known to both, and exchanged
in advance their dancing cards and dark glances. The babies “those who came”
thanked god for safe arrival, having whipped the hounds they rode
through snowy fields in feeble moonlight. The young masseuse found
she had no gown not pink with lace, and donned a wig with golden curls, and feared
she'd argue with the babies, so refused to greet or dance with them all evening.
The robins stood guard in stiff poses, mistrustful of the hounds, but quite ready to be heroes
should the babies fall or panic, wishing only that the master of the house,
the cardinal, would give the order to relax, or join the ball, before the night was out.
Those gathered in the ballroom stood waiting long hours for the honored lords, the Jesuses,
whose whereabouts none knew, it seemed, for sure; though the babies and the robins
swore for certain they had met them on the way.
Fabliau of Arkansas
15 July 2006