Prince Hroth the mad
Sat with his dad
Enjoying a pleasant lunch
Until the king
Turned to things
Which made him want to punch
So Hroth slid
Into his mid
A knife of silver spoils
And now the king
Has other things
To replace his mighty royals
Hroth sits now on the throne
Taking it all in
And with a smile in his eyes
So good, so good
He said and munched
On king's liver pies
The peasants bowed
To this king
What were they to do
Especially with
The old king's head
Serving quaintly as a stool
They talked and complained
Deciding to make Hroth pay
Rightly for his sins
Into the palace
They marched
Converging on the throne
Only to find
Hroth dead
Choked by his father's bones
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem