Elsinore

Leaves fall across the entrance

To the burrow on the bank
The last wasps have left safely
They have summer to thank
Flying silently on empty days
The rattle of wings hushed
Nobility dissolves into autumn
They leave Elsinore ghosts
To feed quietly on late blooms
Timid lionesses powerless by need
And then to hide and sleep
Survive cold; preserve the seed
Ragged successors to noble houses
Flying upon an empty realm of dreams
Having known but a poor spring
This summer's crop of small queens