The place of my origin was destined in royalty
The steps of my demeanour were fashioned to match
The words of my lips were shaped to conform
My heritage has fallen to me in goodly places.
Honour is my birthright
Nobility chose me without my permission
My appellation is covered in colours of gold
The chronicle of my birth is narrated with a silver spoon.
A cradle of gold, no infantile furnishings
A manger not to be compared, shepherds just too modest
My gifts transcend generations, chariots not enough to bear
They came from the north, south, east and west
No unsung heroes room to receive.
Pomp and pageantry, splendour and spectacle
The golden trumpets have sounded
Bugles blaring their sounds in unison
Blessed be the day of my nativity
Serenity to the commoners of my domain
Behold, I rise quickly
On the corridors of grooming I rise to reign.
Copyright 2010 Kingsley Y. Amoah