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Kings Must Die

by
 Alphonso Rex who died in Rome
Was quite a fistful as a kid;
For when I visited his home,
That gorgeous palace in Madrid,
The grinning guide-chap showed me where
He rode his bronco up the stair.
That stairway grand of marbled might, The most majestic in the land, In statured splendour, flight on flight, He urged his steed with whip in hand.
No lackey could restrain him for He gained the gilded corridor.
He burst into the Royal suite, And like a cowboy whooped with glee; Dodging the charger's flying feet The Chamberlain was shocked to see: Imagine how it must have been a Grief to Mother Queen Christina! And so through sheer magnificence I roamed from stately room to room, Yet haunted ever by the sense Of tragical dynastic doom.
The walls were wailing: Kings must die, Being plain blokes like you and I.
Well, here's the moral to my rhyme: When memories more worthy fade We find that whimsically Time Conserves some crazy escapade.
So as I left I stood to stare With humorous enjoyment where Alphonso crashed the Palace stair.

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