The King And I - Poem by Alexander Downie
The King and I we sat down, he'd grown oh so tired of wearing his crown.
He threw of his robes, he looked me in the eye, raised his face to the rain and started to cry.
He kicked off shoes from manicured feet, his regal body crumpled like freshly cut wheat.
His jewels scattered around a marble floor, a name written boldly in future folklore.
The goblet was empty as it smashed on a wall, his empire discarded as he started to crawl.
No servants were there to witness his shame, no courtesans followed, no people came.
I tried to hold him to ease his pain and ran soothing fingers through a freshly cut mane.
As the storm past he walked to the door and in to the night a kingdom no more.
Comments about The King And I by Alexander Downie
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You