In a moment of exhilaration I climbed to my position of exaltation,
Scepter in hand, crown on head to execute judgment so very astute;
Like Solomon of ancient lore I would settle the score tween the two
At war from upon my throne seated so high, alone in finest regalia,
And instantly I knew the crone was guilty as the fair lady moaned;
Emerald eyes pierced my heart and stole the better part of reason,
While the old one with leather face, calloused hands shook to stand;
My mind clouded by sweet smile to beguile even the wisest assured
Of victory o’er innocence, villainous intention hidden by pretension
Of humility that heightened my gullibility and mocked my nobility;
And would I try and convict the real innocent though every indicant
Screamed out for the old crone with weary bones, she was not guilty;
Would this prince play party to wicked beauty to execute the duty
Of slave like some whimpered knave?
Or could I rise above pretended love?