3 February 2013
Carved of chocolate, Made of gold, Something new And something old.
Spirals reaching, Clouds grip tight, Flags are swaying, Birds mid-flight.
Fanfares hailing, Stallions neigh, Guards march quickly Every way.
Swans a-swimming Geese a-laying And in the kitchens, Children playing.
Sit at my table, Veil in hand, About to become Queen of this land.
Queen. • Opuss № I