To Her Majesty, Queen Eleanor

A Queen without her subject sits likened
To a tree apart from its forest. Wide
As its base may be, broad its branches, heightened
Its reach into the heavens doth ride
Is only diminished by the absence
Of lesser trees to bow before it. My
Queen, I do, with no ‘sire for recompense
Present to you this rhyme where truth doth lie.

I bow so all may see and adore
Thee. God save and long live Queen Eleanor.

(c) Chad Schuermeyer