Email Poem

Your IP Address: 216.73.216.3

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

See there! She flies about the moor
Upon her favoured mount.
The waving, flowing grassy shore
bears hoofprints all about.
The waves her steed surmounts.
Her hair is flying here and there;
She hasn't thought of care.

Her little sister, Margaret Rose
Thro' panelled glass observes
As Lilibet, the rider, goes
At breakneck turns and curves.
The joy of youth deserves
A few such wild or reckless ways
Some pleasures in its days.

Her pony soon is waxing faint
(To him we lay no blame!)
She leads him to the arbour gate,
Now finished with her game.
Her sister calls her name.
A liv'ried lad bears horse away;
She runs to hear her sister say:

"Since Uncle had to abdicate,
Now Father rules the land.
Does that not mean it is your fate
As next in line to stand
As queen o'er British sand?"
"Yes, someday that may happen too."
Then Rose said this: "Poor you."

But Lilibet thought not that way,
She strengthened for the task;
Made ready for the coming day
And all that it would ask.
(It sure would be a tax
Becoming an authority,
Yet bound by law's decree.)

From duty's call she would not shrink;
The challenge she'd embrace.
Her high morale she'd not let sink,
But obstacles would face;
And God would give the grace
To yet be brave when dangers be,
And reign with equity.



{Lilibet was Elizabeth's nickname as a child among the Royal Family}

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required