125. Monarch

Beams creak in light sway,
shorn of cover, fears allayed,
gentle snug of mist embraced,
murmuring whispers, awaiting to be slay

Shoulders strong, many batterings bore,
flowers beauteous air once wore,
weather beastly into the bliss tore,
a monster transformed; night came. Came gore.

Head held, crown bejewelled,
now matted mop akin,
courts syllogistic, once a-swell,
now muddy bottom, vacant a well

Sheen faded, blisters dot the remains,
had only if off preen refrained,
from self-servitude only if abstained,

Monarch! Today you’d be un-pained.




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