Eyelids gently drooping,
drowsing on the porch swing,
eighty-three years old and feeling grand,
reveries of cherished times
when he was a lad in Merry England.
In his hands the uniform
that he wore in childhood,
when he was a knight upon his steed,
a champion in his armour,
boldly defending damsels in dire need.
Ruler of the Empire,
everyone his subject,
all, that is,...
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