Scurrying—quickly
out from underneath
the vast
and everreaching
penumbra of June leaves;
Droves have come—
this morning
to meet
and
to hail!—not he;
but simply
an empty
parading seat—
the elegant throne
of their bygone king.
None
can remember
his hallowed name,
for Vacancy—
was his
one true revolution;
that freedom!
that comes—from
not interfering,
having once
healed millions,
has toughened
into legend
and solidified his feted
legacy.
And within the entire assembly,
no one
is speaking
and not one
gaze
is distracted—in fact
each eyeball simply looks—
so relieved
and so terribly
tearfully
happy to see.
