A Wizard King sat boorishly..on his gilded throne,
Beckoning his jesters, all garbed as Clones,
In vivid lycra that enhanced their Carnival Act.
1 and 2 appeared. Not 3. (A most alarming fact!)
''Where is that oaf? '' roared the King, pompously.
''How dare he leave the court..without consulting me.
That witless fool will feel..the power of my wand.
An Abra-Ca-da-bra...and his HEAD will be gone! ''
Crouched in despair, unaware..of this calamity
Was Jester 3, slumped, in wretched misery.
His head (still attached!) ...hung limply, 'tween his knees.
''I curse the callous malice..of the King's Wizardry.''
''Woe is me! He has cast a spell on Queen Emily.
Now frozen into stone, for Eternity.
The reason, most assuredly, was to sate his gluttony.
His mistress must be glad.''..he sobbed, sarcastically.
''Oh, King of Bogus Royalty, crowned so mystically
Turn thy wand unto yourself, if brave..you be?
Create a Heart and then you'll feel..sorrowful empathy
For the hapless victims of.. your Devilry''
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.