POOR KINGS

God's pity on poor kings,

They know no gentle rest;

The North and South cry out,

Cries come from East and West —

“Come, open this new Dock,

Building, Bazaar or Fair.”

Lord, what a wretched life

Such men must bear.

They're followed, watched and spied,

No liberty they know;

Some eye will watch them still,

No matter where they go.

When in green lanes I muse,

Alone, and hear birds sing,

God's pity then, say I,

On some poor king.