| An old king sits upon an oaken throne. | |
| His posture noble, regardless of the toll of times. | |
| Now weary, but once a mighty warrior. | |
| Strong by form, just by heart. | |
| He has sailed the myriad seas. | |
| Fought the elements at the barren north. | |
| Life's misfortunes were just new challenges | |
| to experience and to learn from. | |
| In his reign there was no blame, | |
| nor did he evade his duties. | |
| But to rule was never his passion, | |
| though a task he had to honour. | |
| The old king sits upon an oaken throne. | |
| A grin still visible on his weathered face. | |
| When they come to carry him away | |
| to a rest well-deserved |
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