Some call her homeless, butů
On an early morning walk she owns the world
The yellow daisies drinking from the sprinkler
The broad but empty boulevard
The whole length and breadth of city lights
Sparkling in a special treasure chest
Opened before her hill top throne.
All is hers alone.
Suddenly a flickering seer of sun creeps
From his hiding beneath the eastern horizon,
Foretelling that this sovereign will soon be toppled
And her kindly kingdom repossessed at the hands
Of hoards of horns and unlit headlights with
No respect for sprawling predawn splendor,
As her royalty is undone
She acquiesces to retreat from the street,
Allow the would be rulers to arise from rest, lay ruin
And pillage a pauper's paradise with no regard
For the value of what they have raped and
Trampled in their brief and temporary triumph.
Yet she knows no regrets as she has
a perfectly plotted plan.
Before another morning comes,
she will ascend and reign again