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An old king sits upon an oaken throne. |
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His posture noble, regardless of the toll of times. |
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Now weary, but once a mighty warrior. |
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Strong by form, just by heart. |
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He has sailed the myriad seas. |
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Fought the elements at the barren north. |
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Life's misfortunes were just new challenges |
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to experience and to learn from. |
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In his reign there was no blame, |
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nor did he evade his duties. |
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But to rule was never his passion, |
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though a task he had to honour. |
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The old king sits upon an oaken throne. |
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A grin still visible on his weathered face. |
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When they come to carry him away |
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to a rest well-deserved |