From the shackles of other times,
To the similitude of other plays,
I’d like to think thou art the rhymes
In the poetry of man, for we love thy solace.
And when we flashed back our minds,
To the fact that you were someday born,
We’d like to think that thou art a paragon of masterminds
And the firstlady we’d love to adorn.
When God, at first, was making man,
Having a can of knowledge standing by.
We’d like to think you stole the can
And poured on yourself all you could apply.
So, love first made a way,
Then, beauty flowed, bravery, literal prowess,
Long life, uniqueness, excellence and hooray,
You descended and began to woo man like Angus with alias.
And in a jiffy you became a Queen
In the entirety of your terrestrial planet.
Twenty strawberries you’ve eaten all along, O Queen!
Some tasted sour, some bittersweet, some sweet.
Nonetheless, thou had eaten ’em all.
The next twenty thou shalt eat,
It need must be filled with groceries like a mall,
Where thou shalt eat thereof without fate.
Ought not us to welcome thee specially?
To enjoy the taste of another berry?
Not preferentially, we’ll welcome thee exceptionally;
For thou alone art silvery.