reverse Rumpelstiltskin

take stock,
inventory the vaults.
the riches!

and then she sits,
and diligently, gruesomely,
fulsomely as a sycophant can
spins spins spins.

no babies put at risk.
no blasphemy of our names.
no nobility’s acrimonious threats.

but the gold now rests
in shreads of straw.
the seeds scattered by our feet
with nothing to show,
no wealth, no stature,
no progress, just regress.