A small box, covered in gold plate scenes:
the teen king and his young bride share joys,
hunting ducks, she holds his next arrow, ready,
she ties a wreath of flowers around his neck
(forshadows the dried wreath laid atop his coffin)
he playfully pours perfume into her hands
such teenage love should have matured
aged like wine in a hand-made cask of oak
long lived and fruitful, not sacrificed
to the ambitions of craven powerful aides.
