Recall the hands that raised you nigh.
No tenure sure, no throne to share,
Your station's grace, no birthright fair.
Strive your best whilst in the light,
A beacon gleaming, shining bright.
Ponder those below, their plight,
Whose toil and sweat sustain your flight?
Live with honour, above board,
In scrutiny, be not ignored.
For eyes behold your every move,
In seats of power, there is no room to prove.
Handle power with a gentle hand,
Not as the wielder of a tyrant's brand.
Serve with care, with wisdom's might,
For your deeds will echo through the night.
Think not of glory, of heights supreme,
But of the legacy, of lasting gleam.
For power fades, like the setting sun,
What endures is what you've done.
With humility, accept the call,
Not as master, but as servant to all.
For in the hearts of millions, you tread,
Leave behind a path of light, not dread.
So heed this call, with conscience clear,
Before ascending to those heights, dear.
For in the realm of power's sway,
It is not the crown but deeds that stay.
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