Upon the checkered battlefield she stands,
A sovereign forged by mighty hands.
She moves through fire, wind, and air,
Where king would tremble, she would dare.
The king? He takes but one slow pace,
Yet all the world must guard his place.
She sweeps the board to shield his name,
While he remains a throne, a frame.
She leaps through lines, across the night,
Her strength is feared, her aim is right.
But when she falls oh, silent doom!
A pawn may rise to fill her room.
No grand crown mourned, no songs are sung,
Her courage known but seldom rung.
A lesser piece takes her fading light,
As if her power held no right.
She bled for him, and when she’s gone,
Another stands as if nothing’s wrong.
But if the king should fall in fight,
No pawn can rise to claim his right.
Why must the Queen be thrown aside,
While weaker soul enjoy the ride?
Why can the game not truth confess
That all revolves around her finesse?
So let the rules be drawn anew:
The Queen shall rise as sovereign true.
If she must fall, the crown shall end
No pawn pretend, no false ascend.
The king, if brave, must prove his might,
Or lose the board to equal right.
No longer will her death be cheap,
No longer will her silence keep.
This is the Queen’s game sharp and wise,
No longer masked in king’s disguise.
Let Queen be Queen in full command,
No shadow bound to his demand.
Let every move her story tell:
She ruled the board. She ruled it well.
And now, at last, the game replays
With justice ruled by Queen’s own ways.
