This king, this monarch, this dictator,
To his people, a dismal failure;
He had no feeling for their pain, their hunger,
He ate heartily, and no guilt intervened in his slumber.
Blessed by Divinity, the King was bestowed a daughter,
And with all his ordained might, he was a great father;
The princess grew up in the lap of luxury,
While the peasants slowly withered in their misery.
But disease cannot be held back by royal fortitude,
Into the princess's body the Black Death dared intrude;
The heavenly gift, in sixteen quick years, had vanished,
The regal young life extinguished.
This king, this monarch, this dictator,
A hard lesson learned: the pain of loosing another;
And as his weeps permeated the palace halls,
Goodness would rise for the peasants, as the hardened heart falls.
