The Monarch

T
He strode the corridors of his imagination
Convinced of his authority
A toddler king, whose royalty
Needed a royal tantrum
He pontificated
And vociferated with vehemence
His brilliant ignorance
Impressed by his wind.
No royal jester would he tolerate
To teach him modesty
He was the king
Crowned in his incompetence
Perhaps there’ll come a day
When wounded by his pride
He might learn, like Parsifal
The lessons of a man
Yet I suspect
The toddler king
Will grow more toddler

And age in gusty incompetence

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badgerslabyrinth

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