In Praise of Bethan
Behold our Faerie Queen of southern lands,
More regal than the jewels of star-lit crown
Her throne so fair endures while Lochac stands;
Across the seas her beauty births renown.
Her wisdom turns most bitter strife to peace,
Yet master is this maid with singing bow:
In battle-storm her aim will never cease
To fell bold knights and bring stout foemen low.
The might of badger-folk is at her call
The strong of Brockwood strive at her behest
While gallant huntsmen thunder round her hall
In fabled song of fateful vulpine quest.
When six-month summer draws to final close
This Kingdom shall long mourn this queenly rose.
(Sonnet type: Shakesperian. Fourteen line iambic pentameter with rhyme