Crocus and Hartshorn washed off knives.
A 'Dumb Waiter' delivers perriwinkles.
The Footman's pantry is empty.
Gall of Bullock and Beeswax shelved for future need.
'By cane or by birch the clergyman shall have his knuckle of ham,
damned be you if not!'
Mirrors, Marble, Brass and Glass,
polished to harass the Iris,
the only fungus found on plates,
and dust replaced by elbow grease.
Animals on hooves deliver beating hearts to the Rectory door,
for unfathomable luxury.
Under appreciated and under floor,
a daily Magnum Opus of chores.
No delicate issues here,
not amongst the poor.
Upstairs, each recipient of a chair,
will consume their share and more,
and will sigh if specks on forks are found.
Guests leave, defeated by bulging midriffs,
thanking the Clergyman for things he did not do.
They move on to rest,
with only one servant left,
to clear up, with warm breath on the nape of her neck.
He molests her breasts slowly,
hitching up her heavy pleated dress,
she prepared herself for him.
He is more than just 'Master' and she is truly his.
Not until his death will people know,
that this is their marital home.
and they are forever betrothed.
Hannah and he.
She poses, nude and blackened by soot,
for his desires to be met.
She sweats on her knees from 6 'til 10,
and after then she pens her diary,
and calls him 'Massa' as per his requests.
She is of her time and beyond.
A lifetime of two different castes,
it's easier like that,
and as times pass, their love does not,
they will always have each other.
If guests stay, she'll sleep in the Kitchen.
He'll fidget in a cold bed,
wishing she was there with him,
Kissing, touching limbs, fulfilling whims,
being his as he is hers,
Hearing her lungs work and warming him inside.
At Roosters call she does it all again.
Until 10 she will scrub hard and after she will smile.
Goodnight Hannah, Servant of Love.