Under My Sofa

Queens

I write a crown upon your head
A symbol that you lived through death
A weight to remind you hold your head high
In spite of those who seek to lie
To tell you that you're weak to cry
When in the real world out here
We stood through very real fear
Whether standing strong or standing small
The path was trodden by us all
You're royalty in every sense
The titles are the people's to dispense
The crowns are marked by many dents
Passed from hand to hand and head to head
Worn both by those who stood by what they said
And those who stood quietly but never fled
Owned by the nation
Embedded in the mind
The pits and scratches of our crowns are history revived
They work to recount stories of heroes who survived
I write you the title of Queen of the Earth
Not because you rule it but because from your hearth
You make a difference
You wring out some sense
From the life that works strangely to dispense
Roles you moulded to fit yourself
Married to your goals in sickness and health
Until you bore the respect of those around
Even when peasants sought to tilt your crown

***

As a great woman once said: "You are Queens, don't let the likes of peasants seek to tilt your crowns."

In all honestly, I'm in complete agreement and there's not much left to be said.

Apologies that this is fairly short, but so am I, so at least here it doesn't appear as though I'm attempting to overcompensate with pretentious extended metaphors.

Thanks for being with me on this fine day to tackle the wonderful and not at all problematic letter that is Q.

Alex xxx