The Hollow Crown

   This is your resting place.

   This is your grave, your home, your heaven, and your hell. 

   This is, where you, a great, but foolish king have buried yourself in, and run away  from the 

world. People have called you an infamously bad king. 

   They remember you as the king who dug graves yourself. They laugh at you, take pity on you, 

and play your sad story over and over again. Most of them considered you're a king, but did 

wrong things. 

   Your crown led to your destruction, but also your rebirth. Now, you are just a normal soul 

without power and false honor. You are out of control.

   My dear king, my Richard. Who can see your sadness and loneliness during your lifetime? 

   Who cares about you and considering you were a poor person instead of a high king? Have 

you ever regretted all of the sins you had done to your people and  country, and most

importantly, yourself?
  
  Richard, Richard, Richard. I'll never be tired of saying your name. It's hard for me 

understand your story after such a  long time period, but I love you despite what you have done. 

I love the man you were as king: wearing golden robes, and a heavy crown on your head.   

    I love you as a king and a sepcial person. I want to go to England to see your grave, to see 

your palace, and to see your crown. I want to see the place where you grew up and became 

Richard II.

  I love you, Richard II. Goodnight, my king.