Congruence

My son, alas Looking on the technicolor page Saw but the picture of a king Shapes on a paper Imagination constructing him Missed the relevance That such a monarch long dead Lived only in our head And so with a boy's innocence Said one day I am going to be just like him It is ten yeras now My son and dreams are dust He knows now, I trust In the end it is all the same The final flicker of the flame And none is great, and none ashame In the teary muttering of a name.