The King

This folklore states, where I have read,

A King with ears upon his head,

Forbade all those that might have seen,

Two Asses ears, which were white and clean.

Now men were chosen, to trim his locks.

When on completion, their fate was docks

No more to see the light of day,

The body hurriedly, buried in clay.

Then came the time, a Basket Weaver,

Chosen to keep his King's head neater.

To the King did plead, on bended knee,

For his wife, and child, his entire family.

The King relented, on one condition,

For what he sees, avoids contrition.

With sworn allegiance, to obey,

With hand on heart, he cut away.

The secret borne inside his mind,

From his wife did keep, so warm and kind.

'Till illness, came from holding back.

And soon he sought the local quack.

"Release your secret to the trees,

For they are strong, and if you please.

My fee for such adorning grace,

A great big smile upon your face."

This mighty Willow held it well,

No soul on earth, would its secret tell?

Then one day, a Music Master,

Selects a branch, for a Harp that's faster.

Once in Court, he begins to play,

Instead of music, the Harp did say.

"Larry the King, has Asses ears"

For all that gathered, laughed with tears.

Now the King, with secret shed,

Removed the robe, from around his head.

Revealing in public, his crying shame,

What was thought to ridicule, his fine name.

The Court just rose and gave a cheer,

For here was a King, that ruled with fear.

Now unburdened, and vanity quelled,

His name is Charles, in case I misspelled.

The moral of this story?

Never trust a Willow Tree:)

© Nollaig 2003

Last time reviewed 03/03/2003

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