weightless we are,
fallen of birds,
breadths within soft palms;

our spiritless flesh,
once crowned,
monarchs over the heavens;

fed from the golden spoon,
bathed in pearled beds,
clothed by spoils of war,
and that, not our own;

in dust we reign,
like withering pedals,
the wind reaps our treasures;

"oh, how the mighty have fallen"

where then is our hope ;