There is a king who never wore
Atop his ruddy head
A crown of gold, or any stone,
The ruddy earth does shed.
He made his throne upon the tree
Which beggars took for shade,
And while the nations played at war
He watched his kingdom fade.
But on his finger, iron-wrought,
A steel and silver ring,
A treasure lost to wandering winds
Of which all men would sing.
The king and all his children fell
Beneath a foreign lord,
They answered not to their own will
But to a strange accord.
A thousand years they dwelt below
A castle on the moor,
Until at last they gathered arms
And hastened to the shore.
The children raised a fiery host,
They bore it through the land,
And on the river burned the one
Who held them in his hand.
There is a king who never wore
Atop his ruddy head
A crown of gold, or any stone,
The ruddy earth does shed.
An eagle filled the western sky,
The shadow there did rise,
It roosted in the beggars' tree
To herald their demise.
A dragon rose up from the north
And cackled as it came,
It scorched the children, broke the tree,
And drowned the king in flame.
The beggars died beneath the tree,
The children wept and fled,
They scattered through the foreign fields
And cried the king is dead!
He made his throne upon the tree
Which beggars took for shade,
And while the nations played at war
He watched his kingdom fade.
Still, that noble king lived on,
A spectre on the wind,
Beneath him always, ruddy folk,
Whose kingdom would not mend.
The silver ring slipped from his hand,
It tumbled down to dust,
He bowed his head and spoke no more,
The silver turned to rust.
But lo, it rose, though then it fell,
That steel and silver band,
And thus it was, for all its days,
Across the ruddy land.
But on his finger, iron-wrought,
A steel and silver ring,
A treasure lost to wandering winds
Of which all men would sing.
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Photo in the public domain
