The Last Royal March

The Last Royal March

In the chilling cold, for crimes untold,
The condemned marched out in a row.
The crowd then cheered as the accused appeared
awaiting the start of the show.
No one mourned for the royal-born;
Everything they once stood for was gone.
The scaffold loomed, as they walked to their doom
heads bowed low, and faces drawn long.
One by one, the killing begun
They kneeled before the butcher’s tool
and each time it fell, the crowd would yell
to the end of their glorious rule.
The mob erupted, as the Queen stepped up
dressed in her elegant gown;
but as she took to one knee, most graciously,
They never uttered a sound.
The wicked wretch stretched out her neck
awaiting the executioner’s axe.
Fully exposed, the blade then rose,
and fell with a deadly whack.
Amongst the dead, her severed head,
rolled down upon the heap;
then rest on its side, eyes opened wide
powerless to even weep.