Queens and Kings come marching, marching,
    some on horseback, some on foot.

I leave my mending, approach my open door,
    watch open-mouthed.

Queens and Kings come marching, marching,
    some on horseback, some on foot.

A long line, all shapes and sizes, all colors and clothes,
    the poor and neglected, the privileged and neat.

Queens and Kings come marching, marching,
    some on horseback, some on foot.

Peaceful and eager, expectant and hopeful;
    dust-covered–head to toe, shawl to sandal, fedora to wingtip.

Queens and Kings come marching, marching,
    some on horseback, some on foot.

What do they know that I do not?
    What might they find that I may miss?

Queens and Kings come marching, marching,
    some on horseback, some on foot.

My children grab my hands, drag me outward,
    pointing, laughing.

Queens and Kings come marching, marching,
    some on horseback, some on foot.

I cannot. The unknown, the uncertain. I tremble.
    "Not yet, not now," I say, shepherding us to safety.

Queens and Kings go marching, marching,
    some on horseback, some on foot.

We stand at the window, watching.
    Why this sudden, sodden sadness?

Queens and Kings go marching, marching,
    some on horseback, some on foot…

Text and image © 2022 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
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