by Nick Gisburne
They tell me I was born to be your king,
To rule with care, compassion, love, respect.
How sad that this, the second day of Spring,
Should find these flawed presumptions ruined, wrecked.
I have the power - tell if I’m wrong -
To summon all the greatest minds on Earth.
Let each of them compose for me a song,
To serenade my senses with their worth.
The winner shall be honoured with a prize,
The others burned to ashes at the stake,
But let the victor cleverly devise
The manner that his painful end will take.
I like it. Spread these blessings by decree,
And then, perhaps, a genocide? We’ll see.
