A fourteenth anniversary is, in some traditions, celebrated with gifts of ivory.
On love's battlefield shall I wear our silken, family livery,
Colors of bond and blood raised high in merry heraldry.
We shall crash the gates to make a daring, midday robbery
Of keys to hearts and other parts of innocence and ribaldry.
I'm no Hamlet crying, "To be or maybe not to be ..."
Yet a prince or playing jack or simple form of royalty.
"A royal what?" you may reply excepting for your loyalty
And the fallen shout suggestions as we rush the castle bailey.
Then up we storm the ramparts and other kiss-me-fool activity
Slash and grab on battlements with leap-about proclivity
Then down the stair with treasures, keys of purest ivory,
Past the lost romancers in their agony and bribery.
Gather all our friends!
Embrace the wounded others.
We'll never make amends.
We'll mourn for many lovers.
Never can surrender, we who fight for hearts' pure empathy
And those we trampled in the dust will never trust our sympathy.
With spears we crossed the battle royal in loyal family livery
Victors in this, our fourteenth year, the summer of our ivory.
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