The Queens New Clothes


Its not a barren womb

Its a snowfield in the first days of spring


Its not my hair that's shedding

Its my death that's shrinking


Its not my teeth that are falling

Its my chrysalis opening to the sun


And its not a bandage, or a sling

Though you may talk of such conceited things


Its just the last, long hour before the dawn


The queen is dead

Long live the queen