He bullets home in a limousine,

Driven by a stiff black hat,

Flanked by gigantopitheci,

Who grunt at this and that.

Has he done the right thing,

By giving the order thus?

Will he be remembered,

With fondness or disgust?

The apemen push his front door open,

"Sir, you're home again,"

He hangs his crown upon the hat-stand,

And leaves his sceptre in the rain.

He bids the apes good evening,

And thanks them for their time,

Waves goodbye to the stiff black hat,

Who waves back as would a mime.

His children no longer greet this stranger,

Who turns up at their door,

Only after he's tended to,

The children he loves more.

Those kids aren't even likeable,

They stamp their feet all day,

And complain and fuss and cry a lot,

If they don't get their way.

They never brought him fingerpaintings,

Or dinosaurs made of cartons,

Just petitions, protests, pleas and plans,

And requests for shady pardons.

But now one of these problem kids,

Has taken it to heart,

That he was smacked and sent to bed,

And still his arse cheeks smart.

He pulls the blanket over his prison tats,

Warmed by his crusade,

He polishes the long range scope,

For the morning's cavalcade.

The king meanwhile cradles a goblet,

Sitting on his throne,

Bored by his court jester,

And his bbc monotone.

The queen prefers the kitchen these days,

To the king's company,

Clattering plates and bursts of canned laughter,

And the smell of potpourri.

The king exhausts his chalice,

And staggers up to bed,

But not before he catches sight,

Of something on the windowledge.

A stegosaurus with no preservatives,

Or artificial colours,

More than can be said for him he thinks,

And his cabinet full of dullards.

Cradling this precious fossil,

He climbs the stairs so steep,

And tip-toes across the landing,

To where his princes sleep.

He gazes upon their sleeping faces,

In his head an angel chorus,

Absent-mindedly, his hands,

Stroke the stegosaurus.

The king says goodnight under his breath,

And meanders to his bed,

Lamenting all the wasted time,

And things he should have said.

As the king reclines in his regal sheets,

He feels a pang of sorrow,

And solemnly resolves to tell,

The princes why,

tomorrow.