In the dreary dawn, when the dew was still on the lawn,
King called the courtiers in the palace—known and unknown.
Invincible was he; his kingdom powerful and grown.
Lauded by the God and the people, gold at his feet thrown.
Long live the king! Immortal voices stroked in the corners of the wall.
Evaporated his eyes, sat on the throne, and raised his hand to bless all.
Down in his heart, the fear and his soul had a secret call.
The day before yesterday, he had seen the dream of his regime fall–
His son would rule if the King himself won’t be there together.
Extrapolating the things he said to the pundits and the others.
Kind he had been to the flowers of the garden and one another.
In the middle, asked one, “My lord, what is that it bothers?”
Numb he went: he didn’t want the kingdom to live without him.
Gone was the smile, somebody smelled the fear, and his heart went dim.
Through his painting of fake smile, he was happy it seems.
“Have decided to leave the kingdom!” said he, in the dismay of his dreams.
All were aghast: some began to cry and other shouts.
“That is Sin.”, someone bellowed, “We will be in drought.”
“Don’t leave us, your highness, orphan we will be all day and night.”
And in the midst of the cry, somebody stood in his best.
Yelled, “long live the king!” And had his sword thrown at the king’s chest.
P.S. if you are curious to know the person who killed the king, then I would like you to find the answer by yourself: read all the first letters of each sentence. Such types of poems where the first syllable of each line speaks something is known as Acrostic poem.