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Poem
While the hungry ones pass by
     the fruits of life upon the ground,
The king and queen are leaving
     and they're not making any sound.
In the coming of twilight
     there is a soldier standing bare,
The battles he been fighting 
     are not recorded anywhere.
There's a prince and a pauper
     fighting for a wagon and horse,
Both are dreaming of freedoms
     that have already run their course.

The daughter of the soldier
     was long ago loved by the prince,
But she married the pauper
     and has lived with him ever since.
Sometimes late on the ev'ning
     she can hear him calling her name,
He begs for her forgiveness
     and swears he was never to blame.
Now the stable's four henchmen
     have at last broken up the fight,
And the prince and the pauper
     soon disappeared into the night.

The queen's having second thoughts
     about absconding with the king,
The palace, with its grandeur,
     to her had meant everything.
She knew he'd been unfaithful
     behind the walls of the courtyard,
But, then again, so had she,
     with the new leader of the guard.
The mare was sweating highly
     as she galloped against the wind,
The town lay far behind them
     and she would not look back again.

A preacher woke at midnight,
     sat up and shook his weary head,
Wondered 'bout the commotion
     from the smooth comfort of his bed.
The alter wine was tasty
     and the communion had gone well,
Thought about the pauper's wife
     and all those dreams he can't re-tell.
He heard the fading hoof beats
     and knew it was the kings own roan,
Little did the preacher know
     would be tonight he died alone.

The pauper's wife was ageing
     faster than her chores could be done,
Since he had up and left her
     there were no battles be won.
Too often she'd be thinking
     "what if the prince had come for me?
I'd not be mopping up floors,
     I'd be in royal company".
The windows had been shuttered
     and all the lights had been turned down,
No one's left to "fare thee well";
     she was the last to leave this town.

The dust has long been settled
     on those deserted roads of life,
The broken king lives no more,
     his memory's kept by his wife.
She still sees the old soldier
     and they've become the best of friends,
Once they took to the wagon
     and traveled to their living ends.
Was heard the prince shot himself,
     the preacher was found in his bed;
One loan dog howls at the moon
     that's been floating high overhead.
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