Do you see the three queens cry?  Upon warring tree they have been sewn; it wars not out, but in.  Thorns ingrown to blood and pale blossoms.  Its branch hungers not for sky, but to drink it sap from fellow limb.  Harbors not the song of birds but tearing raptor din.  Mighty, wretched, royal tree, your mother-wives cry for you.

See she who years and monster child has bent and agéd left.  Prospect queen, she was to be, but steel found her groom.  And so her son, no son and son, aspired further still.  Curséd crown to attain, the innocence was slain.  Vengeance hide a widow's pain, a call for purple spilled.  But wrong has wrought further wrong, tempest cast foul wind.  Yet monster creeps amongst her brood, and yet another turns.  A serpent's lair, her curséd womb, forked tongued liars each, save the youthling slain who's ghost haunts this war-bought field.  In victory, each son is cursed; their kin sealed and doomed.  Two to fall and one to rise and yet fall further still.  Traitor ogre, without, within, feasts on brothers' trust.  To crown he cuts, through child and wife; ne'er hindrance can he hear.  Oh foul line, comes from this here dame: cry, oh cry more still.

And who is she, this exile queen?  A spoil of foreign war, she took to the game and played her crown as more a king than he.  Who owns your love, you grafted twig?  To whom is your faith secure?  Oh act you chaste to im'otent sixth, power your true paramour.  Peaceful, he, she push to war; calling dogs and lions.  Don armor, the battle-queen, tramples her husband's dear bartered peace.  A son now her love, a crown to buy him in coins of blood.  But hire she wolves who spare not lambs, and so burns the fire of her final end.  Warrior son and priest'e father burnt by a throne's treach'rous tone.  Now she lie in old lands and rules only her unwashed tears.

Here younger queen, yet twice widowed.  Could she not see the curse of her crown: stainéd rust, the deathly siren?  Seeking return of land, she gain kingdom full.  Oh bitter, woman, it is a fool's desire.  More land cast upon the envious eye, from where will the dagger fall?  Seek ye, safety, take not the keep; seek ye, power, take not the title.  A pride, oh a pride, is a ladder climbing down.  A trick of mirror invert thy hope.  A year, a few, did she feel peace?  Perhaps, but all to build a greater grief.  Where is her son?  Where is her son?  Both to Caesar's tower by monster sent.  How now did precious stone keep her shining child?  Where is her son?

Piling grief upon grief these royals tears are but a puddle to sea.  A self-sought crown by a people harsh, it a deathly cost.  Purple disappear in the sea of red.  Ho now, do you see the cost?  The cost of this apple crown.  A worm in our heart, this call to king.  We bear not the weight.

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