What royalty is this?
Asleep atop his throne all
wood and edges and corners.
Golden curls worthy of a fairy tale,
tumbling down an alabaster face,
askew in slumber atop
a soft chest, spilling over
a rounded belly, held up
by a most rigid and stable seat.
oh, The slumber of the satisfied,
the satiated, content
And the restful peace of the fulfilled,
impervious to the busy din
of bustling footsteps all around,
eager to please in their swiftness.
Of a sudden, a shadow crosses before
his highness-- the square shape of a man
hovers over...
One eye opens, then another, then a spritely jump
from cascading throne.
Jerking muscles, and one question--two words,
looking upwards now at the shadow's visage, with a wide open grin:
Shoe shine?
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