A mossy little hillock
was my stony throne,
a sweet chain of daisies
my jewelled crown.
I ruled my erstwhile kingdom
from beneath a willow tree;
it ran past the running brook
as far as the eye could see.
I had conquered many a land
by wielding my wooden sword
and my terrifyingly fearsome army
of a 100 croaking toads.
The fairies graced my court
atop their butterfly escort;
so did the blue jays, the swallows,
the squirrels and the larks.
But to appease the ever flitting whim,
the courtly act was waived;
I frolicked, I galloped,
I raced the wind instead.
How glorious, how guileless
were those days,
when I seemed to hold the world
under my adolescent sway.
Rama Ink. 