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Stories, sprung from pages on high,

queries, with no inkling of foresight,

verily, of threads nay nary a smite;

yet-readily-read, *clothed*, and come to life

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The spinning of a good *yarn*, is all there is;

story-born-and-bourne you are, and thus amiss,

young and never knowing a darn, ti's is your biz,

and so you spin a good yarn, pose life a quiz

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All stories now *live*, to express their plight,

and other stories, a mite hear, they might,

little do they know, of tales about,

little do they know, of life's routes,

but though sprouted in doubt –

all-out, *still*, they need spout

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*The King*, is but a collector of stories – they say,

"*All* Kings, come see, fated allotters of *fates*!"

But what about the *domains*, of Kings,

what do those bring,

and how might their *raison d'etre...ey's*, be explained?

But one thing, main:

*states*, of *stories*, that hold sway

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Apropos, the spinning of the atpropos,

crochet not so secure

unraveling with a yo-heave-ho

ey to and fro blabla your

lackadaisical lackeys lacking luck

bard bar none barred

king has no clothes, stripped, underneath the same, time comes to leave this plane

a yarn is a yarn is a yarn--yawn--

don't worry, it being repeated won't inflict wanton harm,

a *yarn*, and no matter how long until it "buys the farm",

by auld MacDonald's yard,

*the whole nine yarns*,

insert ee ay ee ay oh rhyme scheme

ee ay ee ay oh

even though sometimes hard

(and done gone) –

sure done had it's twisted charm

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