Some are born as Queens or Kings.
Some are born as other things.
But be you bishop, rook, or knight,
At least you’re not a pawn. Am I right?
And if, unluckily, you are a pawn
You’d best just keep on keeping on.
You’ll reach a spot where life treats you fair.
(Or, more likely, you’ll get murdered on your way there).
And if you reach that special place,
A queen or rook you may replace,
Where you are but some king’s conquest
Or else called “castle,” despite your protest.
Or perhaps you’re promoted to a knight
And never again can you move quite right.
You could be a bishop, those stoic blokes
And victims of off-color jokes.
Only one can be the king,
The chosen one, or another such thing.
So if you’re a pawn, your best bet
Is to stay still in the corner with no regret.
The happiest piece, the jolliest lord
Of the 64-square light and dark colored board
Is the piece that stays safe at home.
That’s why I no longer roam.