When a Queen dies, the lowly

page doesn’t know how to pencil

down his thoughts, no confidence

in the might of the pen

or the edge of the sword,

his tears fall to the ground,

silently and with no forever favour

in his heart; for who is there to please

now that the Queen is dead.

Her other loyal subjects

feel the pain of passing with intensity,

the page carries on, there are wars to be fought

and his master, that of time,