The Jester-King Secret
by Me
A laughing, funning, thrilling rogue,
The slaphand Jester-King.
Demoralized beyond repair
While dancing with the Queen.
Once offered up a ghastly lark,
Which spewed the royal wine.
He sang it out with twangy voice,
But kept the verse in time.
“Of wanderings I’ve seen a few,
of women many more.
A monk, begging for holy bread,
Has shown up at my door.
I worked the trench of labor,
And washed a child’s clothes.
But nothing yet has meant so much,
As picking my own nose.”
The Queen’s retort, with glittering eye, was
“Shall I show you, then?
I must, I shall, for you’re to learn,
What means to be a man.”
And saying so she bared her chest,
For all the room to see,
Put jesters head between her breasts,
And told him that’s the key.
Comed up for air with flushing face,
The laugher, grinning, said
“I much prefer to pick your nose,
than laying you in bed.”
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