We call her The Queen
And rightfully so.
She sits atop her throne
Growling orders to her minions.
Barking demands,
Snarling commands.

The weak-spirited acquiesce
To her desires,
And they admire
Her confidence and purpose.
The strong-willed balk
And blatantly gawk

While, scepter in hand,
She rules the land
With an iron paw.
Getting her way
Through force and might
Or tears and spite.

She’s The Queen, you know.
She thinks she has a right to crow.