The king's beard on which sauces and ovations <br />fell until it became heavy as an axe <br />appears suddenly in a dream to a man condemned to die <br />and on a candlestick of flesh shines alone in the dark. <br /> <br />One hand for tearing meat is huge as a whole province <br />through which a ploughman inches forward a corvette lingers <br />The hand wielding the sceptre has withered from distinction <br />has grown grey from old age like an ancient coin <br /> <br />In the hour-glass of the heart sand trickles lazily <br />Feet taken off with boots stand in a corner <br />on guard when at night stiiffening on the throne <br />the king heirlessly forfeits his third dimension<br /><br />Zbigniew Herbert<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-description-of-the-king/
