Pale and ghastly as ghosts in their ashen wigs and
frilly white corseted dresses, three daughters of English
royalty known as The Ladies Waldegrave (is grave
meant to be a pun?) are seated around

a small decorative table, sewing and embroidering
in a cramped room hung with dark red tapestries
one tiny window looking out on a blue sky
in a portrait painted two hundred years ago.

Is this about the inherent character of girls that never
changes, recognized from the lines “Three girls plotting
what riot is afoot/ which small queen is
about to be brought down”

or is it boredom, confinement or the prosthesis of privilege?
The nature of cruelty originates from many sources.