The Golden Monarch
The king rises,
Kissing the clouds
With his royal blessing.
They blush with their good fortune.
He smiles on his subjects.
Arrayed in their many colors,
They rise to accept his grace,
And blossom with brilliant joy.
He dismisses the minstrel,
And her royal ladies.
The lullaby ends
And the fanfare begins.
The red capped callers,
March to the rooftops.
With voices raised,
They hail the golden monarch.
© Copyright 2016 James Troxler. All rights reserved.
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