The Ogre King

The ogre king sat contentedly amidst his chrome white pillows
Contemplating how he could again degrade his band of forlorn fellows
"Aha," he cried, "I know how to discontent every inhabitant
Anything anyone finds shocking will be prone to quick en-banishment."

He banned music at parties, that was the first to go
Except of course, the music he liked, that had to stay, you know.
To the Joker and to the knave, he gave an audience
And listened to the things of which they were intolerant.

"Please ban helping others, because it makes us feel small,"
They said, "Banning it would be easier than for us to help at all.
Ban any sort of fun that isn't to your taste
And call all those who like it, intolerant to our race."

So gone were grand parades, gone was storytelling too
They were such a waste of time, they really must eschew.
Why were they gone, why made them so defensive?
Just because someone somewhere found them to be offensive.

Then in came little Gawain, trembling as he walked
He knew he had to do this, he knew he really aught.
"Good king," spoke he, "the truth now, really is this,
That I'm offended by the way that you display your riches."

"You have a fleet of chariots, that other may admire
You take them, you display them, until your subjects perspire
You flaunt your power , you are a power addict
And you are willing to crush any of those who contradict."

The king sat quietly, then grasping his shillelagh
He smashed it to Gawain's skull, ending his problem, his complaint and he.