Feb 26, 2016, 7:48 AM  

Your highness 

  Poetry » Other
1168 0 1

The stars are far, my queen,
the stars are fading, drifting further.
Their light is dim, my queen,
their light has hardly any ardor.

 

My queen, your kingdom's growing colder,
the fruits are falling down.
The stock is missing needful fodder,
the people only frown.

 

"The queen needs rest, begone!
She needn't answer in this hour.
Just do your best hereon,
her life already is too dour."

 

Your glamour wanes, my queen,
please, climb the throne again and smile!
I want to serve, my queen!
Accept my faith, I'll pass all trials!

 

The key is in your hand, your highness,
please, do unlock this door.
We will bring medicines, assign us,
allow us, like in yore.

 

"The queen needs peace, begone!
She needn't answer in this hour.
Just do your best alone,
she's tired of your lack of power."

 

***

 

Goodbye, my queen, have health.
"Your understanging's far below low!"
We'll give you all our wealth.
"I do not want it, you should not go!"
We have lives, we must leave.
"Then never show yourselves in here!"
We will not, we must work.
"Around my doors do not appear!"
Oh, even if we did,
we would not be let in.

© Людмил Стоянов All rights reserved.

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