The Vanishing of the Queen

The river ran, the tall trees swayed,

The forger worked, the artist played.

The dog barked proud, the mouse squeaked, too,

And the kingdom bloomed as kingdoms do.

But then, like mist swept off by breeze,

The queen was gone—gone with ease.

The river turned, the trees bent low,

The forger stilled, his tools let go.

The artist’s brush grew slow and weak,

The dog fell silent, the mouse did shriek.

Once bright and filled with cheer and grace,

The kingdom dimmed, lost heart and pace.

The queen was light, the kingdom’s core—

With her now gone, it shone no more.