DON'T WEAR YOUR HEART ON YOUR SLEEVE
THE QUEEN ADVISES THE YOUNG ROYALS
THERE ARE DEFINITELY TWO GENERATIONS
THAT FACE ALL THERE TOILS


ONE IS STRONG AND STOUT
AND HAS A GENERATION OF STRENGTH
THE OTHER GENERATION ARE YOUNG
AND EXPLAIN THEM IN LENGTH


BUT ONE THING IS FOR SURE THE
ROYAL FAMILY ARE TRULY LOVED
WEATHER IT'S THE QUEEN OR THE YOUNG ROYALS
THEY ARE BLESSED FROM ABOVE

Ask lone questions that were made for a King,
one who was born mute, blind and deaf.
He'll express the most breathtaking things,
only coming from this final breath.

A queen was new
where she's vividly in blue
only hands read nine then
these real story escapades must always begin
their allure and beauty with skin
and the final stroke aft-midnight again
whether she was hedge hunting indeed
semantically dialed her phone there in need
and endowed her own again tonight.

(Tr)aveling w(i)th the younger I
With her on your back
She gazed at intricate diamonds of the dark.
Never facing an ounce of (um)brage.

With age, her knowledge flourished
Growing from the water of your trunk
Her brain was nourished with ex(p)erience
Following in your trail

Strengthening over time
She (ha)d no i(nt)erest on your back
Nor the night sky
Rather clouds and the outside
Away sh(E) wa(l)ked from your shadow
With your trunk raised high

Lions and crocodiles swarmed her on s(e)a and land
With no trunk or tusk
Adrenaline rushed
She shook in nerves til dusk

Continuing days with no shade
Skin cells accepting harsh sun rays
With the storm of your stom(p)s
She awaited your presence
(h)yen(a)s laughed as you came
Splattering blood on your name

You laid with your wheel
As she wailed with no trunk
She wept
For you sculpted her i(nt)o who (s)he was

Long, Long down the road.
Buying from an old bookstore
Finding a binder filled with the Royal Animals

Turning the first sheet
She noticed a stamp
Reminding her of her stuffed friends
Triumphant  *Elephants

She sits upon her royal chair,
eating a donut, drinking coffee, smoking a plume
smoke rising like a phantom menace in the air.

She calls upon her royal friends she sees,
the batting false eyelashes to a perfect stranger
asking the "gentleman" only for his "hand" by all means.

She drives in her royal chariot,
A red and orange one, flaming stripes at the sides, singing
Songs about the battles and triumphs of wartime's "great" merit.

One day this lovely newborn bird will fly the coop,
the child I know by rights was a born queen! She'll
win first in pageants and then we'll drink to soul's soup.