The King

A faded emblem of a race,
Forgotten as of yore,
And now the begger shuns his face,
He is a King no more.

A man in drab dank wander's fare,
Who in the wilds lives,
And hunts his food, and toils there,
No heritage this man gives.

Yet now this Ranger, in these times must he,
Live and take his throne to be
And in the union of his lands
Shall show the world his healing hands.

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