More gold on her arms than in any treasury
That this state has ever known.
More kohl in her eyes
Than coal in any of the nation’s mines.
Her crown with gilded leaves,
Outshone by the melted gold on sharpened thorns,
Is one to rival the King of Jews himself.
And surely her bands are enough
To stop a gladiator in his tracks.
But it is her empire
That gives this femme fatale her magnificent pride
She cares not for her possessions
Only for her people,
For the men who ride behind her
Against anyone foolish enough to oppose.
She cares for her castle, a fortress of grandeur
And for the high court leading her world.
She cares not for shining armor
But for their knights, standing atop the walls
She cares not for her crown but for her throne
And not for any prince but her own son.
She cares for the Empire.
Her Empire.