golden goose

A king is he,

 Of royal line he is not.

 Shall we regress?

His tale of progress

 

To the roots of his royal climb

A moment in time

 A reason for this rime

A crown’s roots in slime

 

An elixir of power

A potion for gold

An honest liar’s

Gift he did hold

 

This gift so small

Carried our kingdom

Every bit of it

The whole of the all

 

It carried her majesty

Sailing ships lavishly

A hungry man famished he

And a drunken man so thirsty

 

The sorcerer’s stone

Grows in the dark throne

Rooted in black loam

Tended by aboriginal gnomes

 

Before he was a king

He was a naïve thing

A fool for dance

A yes man of chance

 

 By brotherly romance

He met a strange glace

From the dwarf who

Luck may advance

 

Our king generous now

As he was then

Happily broke bread

With his dwarfed friend 

 

The task which his brothers

Crude and rude mothers

 Failed as all others

With arrogance that smothers

 

 It is to these

Siblings in need

Or rather of greed

I raise a goblet of mead

And say long live the king