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Wise Old King

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Hark the wise one Thomas said
Our old king much In life has fed
I cast my eyes out to the hutch
Of crippled frame and gentle touch
There he bides in restful drone
Upon his dusty, hobbled throne
I fall to knee in humble stance
In wait with quaint, capricious trance
A spacious grinding breath he draws
Lifts tattered lids, eyes thick with fog
With regal stare he grips my gaze
His knotted palms anoint my face
"I see you come" a rasping bark
"To watch as mine old eyes grow dark"
a strict curt nod, my heart grows stern
For my wise king no feelings churn
"I see young one in you not faith"
The sage utters with solemn face
"It grieves in me such pain my boy
To see you know in me no joy
Alas my boy expel distain
Make soft dross thoughts and taste my pain
For I, the heir, of this cold throne
Throne not by choice but fate alone
Not work nor time nor sacrifice
Delved I for this sacred device
Yet note the meek one's strife in life
They yearn so deep for wealths respite
To be a statue in this chair
To sit unquestioned, rich and fair
But joy is this? Can man take rest
Fore this mans soul garners a test?
To reach within my tired soul
To feel a heart both worn and old
Beneath my grand and guided chest
Finds one not gold, but heart of flesh
Comfort marks not the end of strain
For clouds in summer still weep rain
And when I weep I weep for you
For all the pain you never new
Oh son I dream you nobly serve
With grace and strength and humble nerve
Be as the serfs with modest mind
Give them your heart, lend them your time for many men beneath our sky
As king would serve better than I
I love you son" voice, somber, breaks
"A father weak I sit today
I wish you live more joyous years
And heed, Henry, to all my tears"
With that he died, a silent sigh
Spirit to God, to precious skies
a tear sets free upon my face
Frees ripe anger, quells distaste
Shaking, stand I on numbing feet
One last glance upon my lord
My father strong, my father torn
Now look I on, and where I stand
The sun shines bright upon my land
The Peasants sow their golden grain
And distant clouds weep soft their rain






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