Royal Conscience Poem by james watkin
Royal Conscience
Subjected to a ruler
Who's is my worn crown!
Of king's behestings, bejewelled
Prickliest pressed down.
Liberties that are granted
In age-old revolt
That storm wall, shake out litter
With its tax on salt
Are in themselves a terror
For to contemplate
Under one's own high window;
One's own tall gate.
Thursday, April 25, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: conscience
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8/15/2025 12:33:34 PM # 1.0.0
