Twelve villages rebuilt at last
upon the scorched and blackened ground
now thrive where once the scars were worst.
Memory of painful past
is softened by the blessed sounds
of life renewed and slow rebirth.
As winter presses from the soil
the roots and knots, the endless starts
and stops of seedlings trying to grow,
so too do passing seasons toil,
massaging fear from grieving hearts
until at last they let it go.
And so this loved and lovely queen,
whose eyes great seas of tears have spilt
at thought of claws and dragon's guile,
has come at last to feel and be
at home in smoothly tailored silk,
in honeysuckle crowns, in smiles.
The love and health, the joy and mirth,
are miracles she has bestowed
in the kingdom's days of trial.
They have been kept . . . the promises of princesses.