The heat of your desire

made molten our solidity

and changed our leaden form to art

avoiding the King’s want of dues.

Formed into the disguise of sculptured delight

poured into your fist

around your accumulated wealth.

Shipped across to Wallington

to be melted back for guttering your fold

But you came to love our various forms

as Neptune, brave warrior and wench,

as farmhand and delicate maid

So you pedestalled us

high in the safety of your jardin secret -

walled in where only a select few

would ever enjoy our curious forms.

For centuries we gazed down upon your pleasure

overseeing dalliances

of which we could not speak.

But we witness the drudgery that battled weeds, too,

as nature sought to retake the garden into itself

against your strong will.

But as centuries past

your advantage and wealth withered

as societies conceived a notion

of equality.

Your pleasure places became exposed

for all to see

enticing undesirables

who grabbed the skirt of our beloved wench,

and took her

to melt into their own purse.

So what remained of our leaden ensemble

were dungeoned in your past

ushered off to where we remain

in the shadow of thieves’ greed.