The Wooden Cradle

He slept always along the strongest limb,
But never when the sky was dim.
Living by light, nested in shade,
His dreams were led by sounds she made.

A winter whisper sings of fallen leaves
And a cloudless summer sighs hymns of breeze;
It brings in strange, but special things,
From royal rain to evil kings.

Eyes meeting, he asked the gilded gown; the crown,
"With power over nature's riches, why is it, that you frown?"
"My throne's uncomfortable, so I'm always sore,
and the rain clouds keep complaining, that they're 'oh so pour'!"

"Maybe you could help them stay in place,
Instead of asking them to water race."

"Silly boy, it won't work. Don't you see?
For none of you will listen to me!"

So then it spoke, the strong wise tree
With intense yet soothing clarity:

"A king that calls clouds from his castle,
Forfeits respect and welcomes hassle."

Since in the end, he reigns only in his head,
A boy in the tree considered him dead

____________________________________

Resting head and hand on her, a wooden cradle
He ended this quick, flattering fable