Clouds and Crowns No.3

And You can reign, though nailed to a tree,
A truth my mind cannot as yet contain,
Defying my small child’s concept of “reign”,
A word that conjures up the king in me:
King of the hills, imagination’s sea;
The waves cow-tow, the soil receives my train,
My dreams subduing everywhere I deign
To stretch my sceptre out with eager glee.
My crown is borrowed and the years will go
The way of flesh, of dust, of floating clouds,
And time will wrinkle what now stretches smooth.
Still, the Queensland evergreens all know
That growth continues as winter resounds,
And nothing pure dies when safe in truth.