I have a sword of royal grace
that protects me from all harm,
but it encloses me in a glass case
which keeps me from love’s charm.
thru its limpid possessive bars
I see another weapon that I crave:
A blunt object, the heavy mace mars
the idyll of my regal, loveless haven.
These two weapons clash to win me
and I cannot see to choose.
While I long for the mace’s victory
I fear safety should my sword lose.
I want what I have: a royal crown,
But more I want the mace’s soft down.
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