The scroll of his untainted royal bloodline
Was buried beneath centuries of
Sand storms
As old as the faded footprints
Marked by the past living now dead

The hard bound book of his ingenious life
Written in another’s hand
– calligraphic
Squashed the slimmer similars
On the dusty top shelve

The glinting glistening brass accolades
Like polished silver in the bashful sun
Mirror, water, glass, reflections
Blinded the eyes of passers-by
- he was a walking human torch

The reading, prelude of his many exploits
Took an hour and a half to complete
(The reader was expiring so well
His spitless tongue hung out at the end)

The praise singers – gathered vultures
Grinning faces showed their winning
Proud of the jingling sounds
Of their blessed pockets all to his vanity

Then all heard of his temporary end
- life does continue after death…

His epitaph read but two long lines:
To dearly departed and clearly satiated
Ever fondly remembered by his country

What he learnt too late in his after life call
He had been forgotten after all
Long before his mortal fall

------- Author's Notes -------

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