The Queen of Poets

O' the Queen of Poets
The wretched Kings decry...
Sword of Damocles unsheathe;

The Queen of poets sings her Coda
While she is yet a nursing babe.
Her speech has yet to form…

Yet, truth was on the lips of babes
Like none ever seen so far.
Kings, fear thou this,
The poet’s heart who fears thee.
For if the Queen of Hearts cannot sing her odes
Then freedom dies.
Sing. Sing Queen of Poets, 
And like the Blackbirds of Ireland
Have your songs be heard!