To A Serf
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You called me M'Lady and brought me a pitcher of iced tea As I sat alone at table one, row one, black and white Having no idea how much your kindness meant to me You watched me gaze intently at my favorite knight Sometimes through a camera lens, always with tired eyes Fighting the ever-changing lighting to find his face My presence had come not to be a surprise Though everyone stared as I took my familiar place You observed non-judgmentally this pitiful scene Of a woman whose camera is obsessed with the knights After all, how many pictures does one really need? How could these performers bring such delight? Unaware that the real purpose of my endeavors Was a steady supply of new photos for the web site But you'll figure it out if you're very clever - - That the obsession is not with one single knight |
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