Who Knows?

 They say one king is mad.
 Perhaps.
 Who knows?
They say one king is doddering and grey.

They say one king is slack and sick of mind,
A puppet for hid strings that twitch and play.


Is Europe then to be their sprawling-place?
Their mad-house, till it turns the wide world's bane?
Their place of maudlin, slavering conference
Till every far-off farmstead goes insane?

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