Nutmeg, Queen of Bath and Wells.
By P.B. Phillips
Dormouse hid safe from winter’s blast,
Far from frost, or fox and other outdoor fright
Snug in her mighty stone palace,
Asleep for a six-month night.
Open your black-pearl eyes little Nutmeg,
Queen of all England’s Dormice
We know during her winter hibernation,
She’ll do so, only twice.
A thousand miles above her,
the Saltair ceiling casts its magic spell
The gargoyles could be grinning,
they’re just too high to tell.
Christmas morning’s rose-pink dawn,
lights the pre-church hour
Just before the first bible reading,
or bell-toll, from the tower.
Her majesty feasts on storeroom treats,
to fuel the special day
If she lived outside the Cathedral,
She’d eat only, musty winter hay.
Before the novices wash and dress,
and the choristers ensong the Quire
Little Queen races up foot-worn steps,
higher, and higher, and higher.
Dart along the hidden passages,
avoiding the inbound priests
But they’re too busy to notice Nutmeg,
all suffering from last night’s feast.
Enthroned in the nook of an archway,
the Queen finds her lofty seat
High in the roof she has a perfect view,
As the congregation, excitingly meet.
The richest near the alter,
Lords left, and Ladies right
The jostling poor at the rear,
trying to get a better sight.
Then, the arrival of the Bishop of Bath & Wells,
his pomp knows no bounds
With a hat of spired golden splendor,
And all bejewelled, in silver gowns.
With a wave the Churchmen stand,
the choir sing Nutmeg’s favourite psalm
The voices build to a crescendo,
then quite suddenly,
all is still, and calm.
Little Queen’s eyes twinkle and dance,
at Christmas wonderous sights
Tiny cup ears drink in the music,
and twitch with the rhythm of holy rites.
Then at last, the final sermon given,
and sung is the final hymn
Nutmeg’s mind enraptured,
her little soul filled beyond the brim.
The people leave to toast the day
and pass around the challis
only the Little Queen remains,
in her mighty palace.
Vast Cathedral is now hers,
and only hers alone
But, tiredness is too much for little Dormouse,
So, it’s back to her cozy cellar home.
But, don’t sleep too deeply Queen Nutmeg,
Epiphany is just twelve short days away
Awake to enjoy those celebrations,
then hibernate til May.