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Turn It Up.

Sunday, September 28, 2014

Poetic Whimsicality

A standalone poem -- not part of the For Series.
The Tale of the Gravy King

Once upon a time there lived a King
Who so strongly swore by gravy
That with it was made his crown and throne
And his Army and his Navy.

He ordered gravy currency made
To replace the kingdom's money
And found himself a gravy wife
To keep him company.

He built a new capital in his name --
All made of gravy, wall to wall --
And at its centre, was his gravy palace
With gravy towers tall.

Deep within that gravy palace,
Guarded by forty gravy men,
Lay the King's gravy bedroom,
Gravy bath and gravy kitchen.

Daily from there the King emerged
Dressed in gravy head to heels
And boarded his gravy carriage, that
Had gravy flag and wheels.

He rode the carriage to gravy court
To meet his gravy minister,
His gravy commander-in-chief,
Gravy priest and gravy jester.

The King was so in love with gravy
That one could be put to death
If one decried gravy in his deeds,
His words or even his breath.

It so happened one morning
That a King of another nation
Visiting our Gravy King,
Called to question his obsession.

At once the Gravy King stood tall
And drew his gravy scimitar
And thundered, "In the name of gravy,
'Gainst thee I declare war!"

The visiting Royal, bound by honour,
Accepted the invitation.
When he had left, patriotic spirit
Gripped the gravy nation:

All the ridicule that they faced
For their King's peculiar ways
Would give way, in case of victory,
To glory and high praise!

So the gravy soldiers drilled all day
And the forges growled all night,
Making gravy swords and cannonballs
And gravy armour bright.

When the battle day came, however,
The gravy swords and shields
Proved no match for weapons forged
Of iron, bronze and steel.

But the Gravy King rallied his troops
And denied them retreat.
The gravy soldiers fell one by one
In an inglorious defeat.

Grievously wounded, the King was carried
To the camps and given care,
But soon the gravy healers
Declared him beyond repair.

With weakened words, the Gravy King
Of the proud gravy nation
Requested that the gravy priest
Come in to hear Confession.

The gravy priest was fetched, and at
The Gravy King's behest,
All but the priest left him, after
Paying their respects.

Then, with his dying breath, the King,
In a voice tired and small,
Made his last Confession: "Father,
I never liked gravy at all!"


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