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There once was an African queen
with a dark yet empowering gene.
Her lovers were many
her thoughts, worth a penny.
Cleopatra! A sight to be seen.
A war brought him far from his land
to a palace much greater than grand.
At first, Caesar doubted
But Alas! Cleo routed
his thoughts to fulfill what she planned.
An heir was soon born to the ruler
A son! Cleo cried, it would suit her.
But then tragedy struck;
Cesar ran out of luck
A Brute, aye, no man could be crueler.
This next one Sir Shakespeare did write,
I’m sure to Cleopatra’s delight.
Mark Antony caught
in Queen Cleo’s plot.
Her power had grown over night.
But their fun had to come to an end
for disaster was about to impend.
Mark Antony died,
stabbed a knife in his side
and his lover made death her new friend.
Their doom, it had always been planned
by the gods of a higher command.
Yet the fate that befell
the triumvirate farewell
was a fault that their love could withstand.