Poetry

Said the man to the King

Said the man to the King

(whilst concealing a grin):

Rolls of fabric, neat and trim

shroud your holy, pale skin.

Silver thread stitched thickly

around collar and sleeve, strictly

the finest for this work of art;

certainly, Sire, you’ll look the part.

It’s magic, I confess,

to help weed out those who are less

than intelligent at court,

it’ll be a game, a sport,

for the dim witted cannot see

these garments made by me!

 

Said the King to the man

(though he was panicked by the plan,

for in fact he could not see

the clothes supposedly reaching his knees):

What cleverness, sir, you’ve shown,

I would truly never have known

that a charm could be used

to seek out those who have abused

their position by my side,

but now they cannot hide!

 

And so the next day,

to the townsfolk’s dismay,

the King held a parade,

and a declaration he made

that any who claimed

his robes not to be, shamed

themselves and should admit

their serious lack of wit.

Yet among the mutterings

and unsure shuffling

a hum of laughter did climb

at the sight of the King’s bare behind!

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