Fealty
Many men there are, when looking at their king,
Who see naught else than sceptre, crown and fame,
And waving wildly, crying out his name,
They follow blindly, kissing the king's ring.
And when the lord is dead a new one's crowned
With all the pomp and show of the supremes,
The dead -with all his wishes, hopes and dreams-
Forgotten as soon as the trumpets sound.
Yet others are, though rare as desert snow,
Who do not put aside their sacred vow,
But keep high thoughts in loyal hearts somehow,
A vestige of their king in their eyes' glow.
And thus, not going from their path astray,
After crimson night they bring a new day!