Maid to Wait

And I fell to my knees in terror, stunned and grasping my now shut eyes.  I cried aloud at the brilliance and illumination.  What is joy gripped in the talons of mistake or laughter in the chamber of seclusion?  Why am I made to wait upon my emotions like a child?  The maid raised her voice again, ‘Naughty, naughty’.
‘Who is the maid downstairs, the doe eyed one that the boy keeps looking at?’
‘She will not last long but played her role,’ said the old hag who had seen them come and go before, recorded them in the folding sags of her sinking flesh, a skin to sing the echoes of halls and foot falls, patter patter.  The mice squeamishly fly from the claw and she did see a little maid go running joyously to the bed, off with her, and never more did wake the youth from that house, out the next day, a never ending fall of failed attempts to try and find the answer to the yearn, to earn, un-urn, never more, not ever again.