Once a princess had a rambling birthmark in a rather tender space,
That a tattoo artist would have paid her to meander into place.
Generals traveled to her rear end as a sign-nee
Hoping to hold the squeaker that marked the X on her hinny.
As they planed an attacked on her stern with a bag over her head.
Blotting the atlas with red circles the soon to be dead.
Since the map creased and rose in a most particular latergy,
Consequently, the battle makers screwed the strategy.
The resignation sign hangs for a lost war rucked-up,
Not to worry because on the other side it says she ducked-up.
Therefore, never let it be said royalty does not do their duty,
This was a service of honor, not of looty.
mused from 10th Daughter of Memory