With all victory there may come great shame
If you predict to be the one king in the game
Because sooner or later at the cease and the fall
A band of noble farmers may before you build a wall

And no matter how you push your luck, or try to push them back
All these noble farmers will do is just keep striving to attack
They will not leave an opening, not even the slightest small crack
And even when there is no way, they will just stop and there they'll stay

If one of the farmers falter, another will pick up the pace
All of them building a pattern, peacefully reaping your grace
And when the dawn is nearing it's end they will without remorse
Reach the destination which they had when they took course

And bury you in a mound of sand
Never giving in to your highest demands
They will not take your throne, or the crown you posessed
Nor will they take great treasures or bury you undressed

They will remain who they were, and be known wide and far
As noble farmers spur, the break of a new day
And as you lie in the ground ajar and so tendery decay
They will reach the stars, and never seize to play

Poetry by Me