A Kingdom mourns, is bereaved
Of a ruler once beloved.
The throne is vacant
Nothing but palpable emptiness.
The people yearn for a successor
To maintain the order and prosperity,
To perfect on the errors of the former
Thus content the heart and rest the mind.
The people know their choice
Not the person but the personality
They only await to find her,
The one with all the virtues.
One that the tribe of Hands
Will ne’er tire of touching,
Whom the Eyes will never wish
To leave their sight,
And to whom the Will
Will gladly surrender.
At the coronation my heart will swear
To love her totally, eternally;
My body to serve her loyally and
Dedicatedly; my whole being will take
Upon itself the task of making her happy,
For she’ll be the Queen of My Heart.