I am the maid of Lady Claudia.
She’s not an easy mistress, but she’s fair.
I smooth her mantle, fix her fibula,
And pin her pearls into her piled hair.
My lady suffers migraines, and she dreams;
I shade the windows, shield her eyes from light.
Before dawn Friday I heard violent screams
That shattered cockcrow in the waning night.
She woke up raving, crying for her lord;
We said that he was at his judgment seat.
She scrawled a message, said she’d send him word,
And ordered me to take it to entreat
Lord Pilate to release some local king
(Or carpenter?): what madness nightmares bring.
Dear Reader,
Can I be direct with you?
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