Queen of the Land

Queen of the Land

Granny stood on the hill, hands on her hips,

surveying her kingdom through narrowed slits.

With her apron tied tight and a ladle in hand,

she declared herself ruler—Queen of the Land!

“The garden’s my palace, the shed is my court,

and the chickens bow down with a cluck of support.

The cats are my knights, the dog is my steed,

and the squirrels are spies, reporting with speed.”

She marched through the yard, her chin held high,

as clouds rolled in and darkened the sky.

But even the thunder dared not oppose—

Granny just waved and struck a grand pose.

“Bow to your queen!” she hollered with might,

as we snickered from windows, enjoying the sight.

A crown made of daisies and boots caked with mud,

she looked like a monarch fresh from a flood.

A neighbor called out, “Granny, you’re mad!”

She retorted, “I’m ruling—now fetch me my flag!”

Up went her tea towel, tied to a rake,

flapping like glory above her estate.

By dusk, she returned, her reign set aside,

her ladle now stirring a shepherd’s pie.

“Ruling is tiring,” she said with a wink,

“but someone must do it, or this ship will sink.”

So hail to the queen, long may she reign—

the ruler of laughter, of chaos, and gain.

Her kingdom’s a jumble, her subjects unruly,

but love’s at its heart—her monarchy truly.