All day, the drums say

‘Ten years ago today,

The king turned, never to return.’

And while the air is all alive with song,

His Royal Palms wave greenish-golden leaves

Fair with the tenderness of long drawn hair.

Here, in the palace court,

Tall sad ladies sway in grief

To drummed notes of mourning and of love.

We mourn him most, who knew him best,

And loved him as the one link

Between the past and us…

A rare soul aglow with ancient pride,

The pride of a golden age, unremembered.

With fitting grace, he bowed his way from life,

Bidding us to build upon the past,

With pride of worth that only makers know.

But we have failed the King, and lost the past,

And seem now, a race

Sick with loss of memory.

O gentle dancers, dance his spirits back

Who taught us in our childhood to believe

If only we could feel across the age,

A race that made a kingdom might awake.