The Portrait and the King / Poem

There is a portrait on the wall, broken.

But its rooted and lodging there for long
Long since the day his soul had fallen, 

Like a glorious king defeated, 

He bared his armour , waited..
One day came with a bee buzz 

The portrait had nestled hundreds 

And they called out like in Warfield

Soon with a thumping heart he looked up 

And the bees left their chamber in alarm 
The broken glass started shedding the frame

Slowly it began to shrink like in a rapid flame

It reminded him of a conversation long back

Of two teary eyed mortals enraptured in dark

The Portrait and the King  !