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The Little Boy King

A voice came from the mountains, from a Little Boy King Soon after the sound of a bell that did ring. Setting on a cardboard throne, he donned a green paper crown He held a paper-mche' scepter and wore the face of a clown. His ego buckled the throne like the breaking of glass Straight down to the floor landing flat on his ass. He quickly rose in his scurrying to the next room To veil his imperfections, the source of his gloom. If I stay in the shadows, then no one will know That the illusions I portray are not all a glow. But the Court Jester knew of the Little King's faults So he scribbled a quick poem like a wound filled with salt. Still the Little King barked at those of long years But his droning demands simply fell on deaf ears. You see, the Little Boy King lived in a world of his own With a scepter made of paper as well his crown and his throne. So children remember that though you think you may know Be kind to those of longs year or a storm just might blow.

Bruce Rowe -2011

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