Round and round
The planet spun through another night.
Couched in soft fatigue,
The queen no longer even sought sleep.
Alone with the patriotic green of her slate
The chrono sketching minutes and hours in red
She swept her dreams from her brow.
Round and round
The regrets, the longing and the fright,
The sting of court intrigue
Pushed to one side and buried deep
To free her to bow to this celebrated fate.
Eyes averted from the stars, crouched on her bed
She fulfilled, slowly, her vow.
(Oldish poem, dug up from a random folder)
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