tudor.

ground it up
 push it away
it may fall in my hand
 to be frank
I never wanted this land
 I never wanted greatness
 I never wanted children running towards me
 I never wanted the fines tea
 and finest melody
 and you
the girl with flowers clinging to the sent of her hair
 who`s so very beneath me
 make me tremble.
 I the man of power,
the boy with a world under his finger nails,
am terrified by you, the farmer`s daughter.