A King Who Neither Prances Or Preens
He is the one, the only King.
All play-mates leave him quite alone.
No matter what morning doth bring,
He tends to play on his I-phone.
Stabbing red buttons, click, click, click,
He is so regal, and oh, so quick!
The king’s son we would never trade.
For this one surely makes the grade.
Not the kind of man to prance or preen,
Always nice to his butler’s aide,
Takes his orders from Mum, Mother Queen.
A robin’s stolen song to sing
And a delicate rose home grown
Could not make more handsome our king
Nation’s own sitter of the throne.
Stacked sky-high like a winter’s brick,
He was quite pleased, this young King Nick.
A handsome lad, a sharpish blade,
Whose butler ruined a parlor maid?
Swear oath, upon his throat and spleen,
Knew nothing of this escapade,
Integrity still clearly seen.
It was his lovely future dream,
To find an app on his cell phone,
Amid magical pink sunbeam,
A scented eagle duly flown.
With a simple ordinary click,
I sneaked a photo of good King Nick.
Talk-chatting up a lovely maid.
Diving into yellow marmalade.
Loveliest girl he’d ever seen,
Hair a curly ebony cascade,
Happy now, he saw future queen.
He found a gold and emerald ring,
With the sweet sheen of abalone.
Was a beautiful jewelry thing.
Forged from a white unicorn’s cone.
Double frothy, and rather thick.
He was satisfied, our good King Nick.
Against green grass, a picture made.
A backdrop sold at each arcade.
Taking photos with rather keen
Ripe selfies around royal glade.
Money-maker, impressing queen.
The queen thought devil phone would ring.
She thought his future duly blown.
Conjured a pretty dove-like wing
A pure one which had never flown.
Feathers so tight and rather slick,
Imagined by his summer creek.
Before, beyond this princely glade,
Ravenous hair, in beautiful braid.
She would make a lovely new queen.
Our Queen Mother rarely now seen.
Blue-eyed beauty is our new queen.
Royal Family led a happy life,
Son with parents, man and wife.
Fraught with goodness, not much strife.
Queen Mother tried to get in there,
Crazy madness, felt everywhere.
King found the girl of his dreams,
But had to give up mother, or so it seems….
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2019
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