The Crown

Gleaming, golden
sun enhanced.
Jewels like none have seen
on its face, encrusted.
In his hands it is passed,
from father to son
at long last.
Wrinkled hands,
pass it to new
as I grasp it
with teary eyes.
On my head
it is placed
before the one I kneel,
the king, the ruler,
the father of my birth,
his ring I do kiss,
in recognition and honor.
His sword he does tap,
once, twice
on my shoulder.
Christened a King
I rise.
Lighted candles
the flames flicker
light caught in the crowns jewels
as sparkling, they glimmer.
The crown, on my brow sits
as the throng I face,
rising new, a King.

The End

Copyright January 2000 by Christopher J. Thomasson