The great, and deeply beloved Queen Dido
Of ancient Carthage grand in cultured wealth
Had felt as if she already died, so
She wrote a letter to her future self.
A lone prose line,  little riddle saying,
Engraved with haste in massive slabs of stone
That could withstand the weather’s long fading:
Remind her future self she’s not alone.
Alas, reborn as Cleopatra queen
When Romans had returned, her royal bed
Was shrouded, lustful fog, and thus not seen
Was Dido’s tablet that she should have read.
She too was lost, and thus age never sings
Her warning words: “We’re not the things of Kings”.

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