A poem
Dear God,
This fearsome worry haunts my mind,
I was a father, severe but kind,
brought him up to wear the crown,
but all attempts have let me down
My grown-up son, my only child,
still is boisterous, foolish, wild
He drinks and smokes, and is girl-crazy,
but the worst of all: he is damn lazy!
And though I love him with true passion,
how I fear this unavoidable succession!
Is he what he is supposed to be?
Or am I the only one to see
the subject ‘s well-being is at stake
Oh, what to do, for goodness sake!
His crown too heavy,
his coat too long,
Lord, let him be great and wise and strong!
Since I feel that I am dying,
for me no way to still keep trying
So I beg You to try and show
all there is about a king to know
Eva Mout
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