Cleopatra in Rome.
Now that the Queen of Egypt,
Has more admirers in Rome,
I have given myself, the honour,
Of being her advocate, since,
The dead can't speak for themselves.
I perhaps have been misguided,
Through ages of art and tales,
To what seems veracious.
Her highness, was indeed desired.
By the best, and revered of men.
And how could she not be,
For there was no skill she wasn't adept.
Even with a fragment of her parlence
Cesar, was the bravest general.
Brutus, an honourable man.
She, you see, was not betrayed,
Rather declared dead, from venom,
From a wasp, in the arms of her lover.
Well, what a scandal it would have been,
To reveal, what war she fought at her door.
When, Augustus marched to the Nile,
To seize, his friend, Anthony,
The last days, of Rome as a republic.
For never has a Roman general,
Found a friend, bad at back-stab.
But Alexandria, did not succumb,
To the fate of other hinter lands,
For they had a queen, who could rule,
Better than best men, and war,
When her country was called to test.
Well, trust not history, when they
Speak of leaders, for often,
Legacies of the triumphant is
Built on the ashes of their rivals.
And Cleopatra, did lose the war.
The annals, I seek are buried,
Or burnt, in a medieval pillage,
Heroines erased with ease, but one.
What a queen, She must have been,
That, history couldn't write off, her affairs.