Feb 26, 2016, 7:48 AM  

Your highness 

  Poetry » Other
1236 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." ...

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