The King of Old

Look upon the plaque crafted in gold,

Set in marble, white and cold,

In the heavy script of some man long dead,
Says "Here lies the King of Old".

Perhaps he was blessed with silken skin,

Perhaps he was from the noblest of kin,

Perhaps he was bold of brow,
Perhaps he was robed in satin.

Yet he was lulled into the endless sleep,

In a grave where he will keep,

Until the world perishes by flame or frost,

And he will sow what he did reap.

So the King of Old sleeps alone,

Neither twisting nor turning in his bed of stone,

Yet even here, he dreams to rule,

With a throne of flesh and a crown of bones.

Maaz Masood

Grade X- F

BSS North Nazimabad Cambridge Branch