Self-Professed Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

The years flew by, a whispered tune,
When Haakon VII, beneath the moon,
Slipped from his crown, and I, so small,
Was but a child, but remember it all.

Now Haakon VIII, a younger face,
Holds royal sway, with gentle grace.
His great-grandson, a distant heir,
A circle closed, beyond compare.

If six years marked my infant start,
Then eighty-one, a life apart,
A final chapter, soon to close,
As mortal understanding knows.

But man may guess, and count the days,
Through shifting skies and changing ways.
The Lord's own hand, it guides the fate,
And opens wide, the final gate.