The King | poem

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Patrick Jayasuriya|

There is joy in the rise of the sun

Like a king in his colours of ceremony

And joy in the setting sun

Like a departing king on his country itinerary.

Joy in the spring when buds of flowers burst

To break under the sun closed bounds for birds’ thirst.

And the young and bleating kids of sheep

That kick the turf in tufts and leap.

But each life, human, animal or flower

Is tragic in time that must beginnings devour

Like a king dispossessed of his throne

And all his power overthrown.


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