King Andrew sits upon his camping chair,
gazes round a breakfast circle; cooking
on a campsite, frying sausages;
eggs are cracked and smells of coffee
snake along a breeze to rise and enter
into now. Everything is set for feasting
and a sunny time’s on hand;
morning’s up and a King surveys his land!
But wait - what is this quality called King?
Why do people rush to cook him breakfast?
Why do people serve a man, this elf?
At once a warm and gracious King
adores his people more than judges;
loves them for themselves.
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