|Queen is she, with the world galore,
And her stone in which she steps
Quiver with the stream’s passing.
Her feet never touch the water,
Yet she berates the fish who die of hunger.
Queen is she, with eyes of jewels,
Gazing down from her throne with knowledge,
Knowing she is in charge.
Peasants try to plea existence,
But are stomped flat by her might feet.
Queen is she, while pauper am I,
Living on the street in search for gold.
She swims in it and spends guiltlessly
On things that I too deserve.
Our name is the same, yet our blood is different…
© Copyright 2006 A. E. Miller (UN: orokid at Writing.Com).
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