Three Cups of Wine

Three cups of wine for three kings,
each coming quickly
 in succession,
held by the same, loyal servant
until the moment royalty is
mutinously dethroned.
To the first king, the wine
was offered, the servant
so young, so new,
that she was too eager,
too swift to fill
the first king’s golden goblet.
Abused and misused,
the cup of wine fell to the floor,
creating a bloody bath,
an elegant mess
that called a brilliant revolution;
the king was no more.

Years later came the second,
cautiously set upon the throne,
waiting far too long to rule,
forgetting the truth
of the fragile laws
that still strongly bound him.
The servant, an apprentice
to the scholarly,
knew enough to bow
before the uneasy king,
offering again her wine
into the soft hands of royalty.
He took the wine,
mulled the cup about in his hand,
circled the matter in itself,
then drained the entire thing
in one fell swoop,
one devouring gulp.
As rebellion began to rise,
as the people grew restless,
rambunctious, and restive,
the troubled king surrendered,
abdicating the throne even before
it was his time to fight.

Soon thereafter, the third king came,
gently slipping himself into the robes
of wealth, of honor, of beauty
right before the servant’s eyes,
now a learned woman,
a humble slave to her knowledge.
A third time she offered up the glass,
now slightly mottled and tarnished
with imperfections,
to the stately king,
bowing for his undying respect
and his chaotic order.
Taking the glass from her callused hands,
the third king sipped the wine,
tasting the flavor,
relishing in the refinement,
and then sipped again,
slowly receiving the reverence.
To keep his place,
to keep his throne,
the king placed the servant
carefully beside himself,
bestowing her equality,
and the chance to be blessed.