When a great royal oak falls
When a great royal oak falls
in the great royal forest
the tremors of its impact
are felt throughout the land
Some shed tears
of loss and grief and pride
Some shed tears
of loss and grief and pain
true loyalties are revealed
unhealed wounds are exposed
The roots of this forest are tangled
“The Queen is dead!” the courtiers proclaim
“Long live the King!” their swift refrain
lest the bloodline be broken
lest some imposter slips in
Willing subjects
unwilling subjects
former subjects
all feel the mighty fall
The roots of this forest are tangled
Myths and legends the world over
all agree
that the good king or queen
a true king or queen
serves with grace
and dignity
with discernment
and humility
knows the cost of sacrifice
and the cost of war
visits the poorest of the land
in common disguise
does not believe the lies
of those who fawn and swell around them
But the ignorant monarch
the vain or the greedy monarch
subdues, invades, extracts
steals the biggest jewels for their heavy, dazzling crown
does not know the price of bread
nor the despair of an empty hearth in winter
The roots of this forest are tangled
In all mourning
there is a reckoning
The roots of this forest are tangled
Don’t show me your royal riches
Your Majesty
gilded carriages mean little to me
Show me instead the least of your subjects
the happiness of your children
the health of your rivers and mountains and trees
only then will I know the quality of your reign
and the health of your realm
The roots of this forest are tangled
and in the hush
in the hush of the great royal forest
where the great royal oak once stood
the sky suddenly opens
and pale saplings rush upwards
towards the golden light
of the early autumnal sun
these opportunities don’t come often
these are tender times
When a great royal oak falls
in the great royal forest
the tremors of its impact
are felt throughout the land
Some shed tears
of loss and grief and pride
Some shed tears
of loss and grief and pain
true loyalties are revealed
unhealed wounds are exposed
The roots of this forest are tangled
“The Queen is dead!” the courtiers proclaim
“Long live the King!” their swift refrain
lest the bloodline be broken
lest some imposter slips in
Willing subjects
unwilling subjects
former subjects
all feel the mighty fall
The roots of this forest are tangled
Myths and legends the world over
all agree
that the good king or queen
a true king or queen
serves with grace
and dignity
with discernment
and humility
knows the cost of sacrifice
and the cost of war
visits the poorest of the land
in common disguise
does not believe the lies
of those who fawn and swell around them
But the ignorant monarch
the vain or the greedy monarch
subdues, invades, extracts
steals the biggest jewels for their heavy, dazzling crown
does not know the price of bread
nor the despair of an empty hearth in winter
The roots of this forest are tangled
In all mourning
there is a reckoning
The roots of this forest are tangled
Don’t show me your royal riches
Your Majesty
gilded carriages mean little to me
Show me instead the least of your subjects
the happiness of your children
the health of your rivers and mountains and trees
only then will I know the quality of your reign
and the health of your realm
The roots of this forest are tangled
and in the hush
in the hush of the great royal forest
where the great royal oak once stood
the sky suddenly opens
and pale saplings rush upwards
towards the golden light
of the early autumnal sun
these opportunities don’t come often
these are tender times
