The king sat perched upon his throne
Like a gargoyle crouched, with strain on his face
Elbow on knee and fist on chin
Thoughts flow, ideas streaming through the king’s mind
Rulings, laws, inventions are all formed with ease
Philosophical and mathematical concepts, seem so facile
The king sits and reads the scrolls of the town
Learning and thinking in his own private hall
His throne, his escape, provides him with time
Privacy and spiritual healing are often sought here
Hours have passed, yet the king remains strong
Sedentary he remains, his mind tied in knots
Alas he is disrupted by calls from his hall
“How long are you gonna be in there?” bellows his queen
The king finally rises, up to his feet
And with a tiny handle flip, he flushes away
All the crap that has bothered him, on that fateful day
