Inspiration

How often have I started outWith no thought in my noodle,And wandered here and there about,Where fancy bade me toddle;Till feeling faunlike in my gleeI've voiced some gay distiches,Returning joyfully to tea,A poem in my britches.A-squatting on a thymy slopeWith vast of sky about me,I've scribbled on an envelopeThe rhymes the hills would shout me;The couplets that the trees would call,The lays the

Kings Must Die

Alphonso Rex who died in RomeWas quite a fistful as a kid;For when I visited his home,That gorgeous palace in Madrid,The grinning guide-chap showed me whereHe rode his bronco up the stair.That stairway grand of marbled might,The most majestic in the land,In statured splendour, flight on flight,He urged his steed with whip in hand.No lackey could restrain him forHe gained the gilded corridor.He