My Precious

The sovereign sat,
On the mount,
4 corners to,
Contain it,
English Gold sitting next,
The Welsh band,
Occasionally the Welsh gold,
Touches the English,
Invoking Celtic Rhyme,
In the Poet,
Never would he throw it,
An heirloom,
Passed Generation to Generation,
The game began,
In Earnest,
And he felt wild,
But not free,
Freedom cannot be bought,
My friends,
It can only be earned,
So gold is my precious,
Round like a table of yore,
Like a Knight,
On the Steel horse I ride,
Honour is what the Sovereign,
Requires,
Shall satisfaction be found?

David Robertson 22.07.2021