Arise! You dearest people, Look! Your King lies slain,

Head severed, limbs astray, in the bloody battlefield,

As war ends, his journey begins, devoid of any shield.

How’d you hail him, he who’s frigid, free from pain?

He goes down history as a martyr, where will he be lain?

Detached from pearls and peridots, he goes concealed,

Will men respect him who kept his heart from greed sealed?

The moon’s led far from the night, it’s that storm again!

Oh dear! Would the world end for our King is no more?

Birds might change their feathers but partizans remain few.

Yet, I’ll hail him as a great leader, for war no memories tore.

In honour, he’ll lie in every home and heart, a warrior so true.

The greedy weapon that killed him will be shown the door,

When time’s no longer a faithful friend, he’ll come to my rescue.

***

Poet’s note: English literature speaks of worthy kings being slain and Shakespearean plays often depicted regicide offstage, as killing a reigning monarch was considered morally wrong and sacrilegious. Julius Caesar, Macbeth, King Lear, Henry IV

My Petrarchan Sonnet is a tribute to such great kings. People always bestow the greatest faith on a true leader even if he is no more.