Seemingly small and insignificant, It sits atop my finger, like a bird perched on a branch. A symbol of great power, Yet shrunken and frail as paper. Its hidden beauty rivals those of Aphrodite. My love for it swells Like a well after a heavy rain. Oh, this paper crown, Its simple beauty Is a gold as pure as any other. Its paleness is greater than snow, Its weight light, but heavier than the empire it represents. This paper crown, worthy of a Queen.