Inside the Grand Viziers palace.
Inside the Alcazar.
With his eight hundred wives
and the pleasure gardens
that go on for miles and miles.
Ceramic tiles repeating and repeating.
The niceties of yesterday.
Easter Sunday, Easter Day, Today.
Through the well of remembrances,
we dive again today.
Making figures of eight.
Remember the spring.
Remember the sun.
Remember the sourness of fruit.
And the frail way
Easter Day sneaks behind us.