Right Royal Reduction

The King was a smarty, who threw a big party,
to show off his riches and stuff.
A conceited old guy, with a twitch in one eye,
as the other one pictured you buff!

His aunt twice removed, brought guests unapproved,
one a beauty with long golden hair.
The King downing rums, kept patting her bum 'twas
enough from this fat debonair!

You just couldn't tell, from her sight and her smell,
that she practiced the way's of the witch.
While he guzzled his wine, giving tales quite sublime,
she had popped in a potion to which:

For each boast that he made, or fib that he said,
he'd lose inches the very next day.
To shrink in his sleep, this royal bopeep,
would party his good self away.

So the beauty just smiled, as the fat king beguiled,
reminding the guests of his riches
This silly old fool, with his useless crown jewels,
was no match for beautiful witches.

So she danced when he asked, this Dead Hand of the Past,
was groping the flesh of his fate.
His big sweaty hands, and his roaring commands,
wouldn't strike up the strength to berate!

So the morning broke in, with a sunnier grin,
his majesty rubbing his face.
Sat up with sheer dread on this huge, endless bed,
as he struggled in brocade and lace!


No holler, no shouting, brought one in or outing,
the place was as quiet as church.
What a whole-hearted nightmare, he slid down his side chair,
- abandonned and left in the lurch.

In his tiny white nightie, he took off fair and flighty,
crawling himself under doors.
Ran into the kitchen, with hardly a stitch on, 
where the maids started cleaning the floors!


'Eeeh! Where'll the King be, kidnapped in his nightie,
...how much will the robbers demand?"
They say grace alone, won't get him back his throne,
could cost us well over a grand!"

Though he screamed at them loud, jumped and made a dust cloud,
at over an inch just, he reigned.
He was too small a guy, to hear or espy,
would he ever feel wholesome again?


The maid left her mop, near the marble work top,
took a break from her hard morning toil.
So up the King climbed,  in an act so well timed,
for back came the servants and royals.

But the silly old flip, took a turning and slipped,
fell off into water below.
In the bowls of the hounds, who thirst showed no bounds,
for their searching of Master McLow.


His favourite mutt, with the low-hanging gut,
swallowed him down with one slurp.
Seems the King of all grace, disappeared without trace
(and was not even pardoned by burp!).


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