TRD
Dipped from the well ink did swell upon the parchment.
’twas the tip of the quill that did fill the empty canvas.
HE.....could hardly wait to stamp this.
A new way to flip fortuity;
this trip to power shapes up incongruently.
At least for you and me;
the folks so common we’re like strawmen in the farmer’s fields.
As the harmless; WE must yield.
Or be set upon by others of our ilk.
Those doused in dread by what the words on the paper said.
Now we’re likely dead.
Better yet, likened to a tree and being bled.
Syrup for supremacy; a taste so sweet,
HE doesn’t care what the dilemma be.
‘What’s writ is wrote. Do so, or you shall be smote’
A direct quote, followed by his mark.
Hark! The heralds sing of the King and his ruling.
Grueling are the times to come.
Are we to run away and flee;
or shall we stay to be systematically oppressed by [Bye]....?
The Royal Decree.
