The King

The king came to town on one warm autumn day
And looked for a lodging in which he could stay.
The haughty and proud made many an offer
But his choice, I recall, earned him many a scoffer.

He could have elected to rest in a castle,
Or a fine room all curtained with velvet and tassle,
But he looked all around for the lowliest bed
And finding it, slept there, no pillow for head.

On the morrow he woke and decreed to the city,
"I chose for my friend the man you won't pity.
So to all who would scorn him, remember my visit,
And ask yourselves, what good are lodgings exquisite?"

Then off the king went, and the city was bitter.
So many spurned nobles! And how they did flitter!
But one man was left with a peace so complete
That their anger was sour, so he rose to his feet.

He cried, "Rich men of honour, do not mock his name.
He gave me such treasure, despite all my shame.
O how can it be that the mightiest one
Has made me an heir, and has called me his son?"

The rest of the tale is still yet to be known,
As the flower is hid when the seed is just sown.
For I am that man who was blessed by the king.
And he bid me to offer, to all, the same thing.