I’m with the Chatelaine, name of Madeleine
Whom bees, butterflies and sweet-heeding birdlings circuit like satellites do the Earth
In a chateau in every aspect at surfeit, well judged and better kempt surfaces
Fine Romanian wines, ancient busts, gilt variations of ancient lusts
Musty old books, on hooks the masks that shield against bastard mustard
Tribal masks, fetishes designed to fascinate
Potions and powders for zombie making
Taken from Africa, or from Haiti, things so old they’re difficult to date
A golden circlet reputedly taken from a pre-Saxon mound grave, early Bronze age
Bay windows through which handsome, buttery sunsets can be taken in
A wonderful place, palatial, where nothing awry or ill repairs
A place quite retired from the city’s tiresome trials
Away, away, hidden like a priest in uncivil days, a great many many miles
A good long way, that is how this place was situated
A handsome, subtle situation
Between She and me a veritable feast
About which a starving man might fantasize
Striated trays, parading raisin scones and tasty madeleines
Cream heaped the scones we eat
Nobly keep the family seat.
Alchemisland 
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