The king is bedecked in a robe of purple and blue.
His shiny gold chalice swaying in the wind.
A new crown rests firmly upon his head.
He is holding his scepter proud and true.
I can smell the scent of rose oil emanating from his head.
The red velvet carpet leads up to the canopy over his throne of ivory.
Jesters dance and juggle,
While soldiers march in step.
Everything stops, then the trumpets blare.
The king has been coronated.
Long live the king! ! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem