Fm Rt Poet Sonnet

The Crown of Marigold

Now stand you on the top of happy hours—
Or so the mirrors 'round your glass realm show
Man of beauty, charm, and stunning power,
I will cackle as you are brought down low.
For though you claim a crown of gilded wind
And stride upon a path of shining zinc
What are you but a foolish child chagrined
Content in pretending to wisely think?
Fall to your knees, young Tudor King, and plead
For mercy from the crown of marigold
Only to find that thy high pride shall bleed
As all your pyrite sword has slain, tenfold,
For as young Cath'rine sits upon her throne
She waits to dine upon your heart of stone.

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