I dwindled

The forgotten flakes

With milk

And berries

Purged the Au Gratin

    Cheeseheads

  I rallied root beer

For foraging

 Forget me nots

In a field of flowers

Like Death with a reaper

    In the fields of barley

 Great sighs of dark clouds

And ambrotype photographs

   I polished the shoes of children

And plied the mince pies

To ferrets and beavers

True to my word

You are

A straight shooter 

  The Queen of Moons

Or of Swords

Lake above 

Fire below

   You threw the coins 

 And got the Aardvark

It's gone now

But the signs still there