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The Postman
A postman brought the key
that opened up the morn,
Forty-eight hours after the new king was born.
His queen was but a thought
that would come years beyond,
She would be much younger and a blue-eyed blonde.
The old king would step down,
that crown was for his son;
He'll live for the grandkids 'till his days are done.
There will be many heirs
and each will stand in time,
They'll be looking often at those close behind.
The postman brings letters
every now and then,
Some will request payments, others will find the bin.
Royalty no longer
do make the front page news,
To see them now the back pages you'll peruse.
Their pictures been painted
so many years ago,
Where they're hanging now, nobody seems to know.
This land's a republic,
the monarchy's long gone;
Heirs are now working normal jobs all day long.
Those paintings were noted
and worth a pretty price;
Whoever had found them will be living nice.
The postman retired
long before the king's fall;
Spend his days looking at paintings on his wall.
Copyright ©
Daniel Larson
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