Hail To A Sun King

A man who scales mountains, and keeps going – proud, is surely a king hidden under a shroud.

For if thus proclaimed, our once hunger would slake – while evil residing would tremble and quake.

Though women would pine if he wed and sing woe, whatever he touches grows well as blooms know.

And men call him brother – once neighbor, now friend: when Triumph is finished, begins once again.