Once upon a time – which is another
way of saying ‘never’ – there lived a King
in waiting, by the throne of his mother.
He squandered his days in wistful dreaming
of the kingdom to come, under his rule;
when all good men of conscience and foresight
would laud his wisdom and suffer no fool
who might cause his crown to luster less bright.
He sought counsel from the flowers and trees
on his estate and proclaimed his viewpoint
vehemently, without seeking to appease
anyone whose nose got put out of joint.
He sired two sons who wished to go to war:
Princes with the common touch; mercy’s children
who yet desired to steep their hands in gore.
They bade minstrels sing to ease the burden
of their hearts and caroused with womenfolk
from good families, whose sweet honey-traps
they sampled with silver spoons. For a joke,
they despatched heralds to declare a day
of national merriment, when perhaps
the bards of old could be convinced to play
their ancient lays. And lo, such music filled
the air; all thoughts of war were sudden stilled.
