Emperor of Bric-a-Brac
Dear old Emperor of Bric-a-Brac,
You have a domain that is small, yet highly known for it’s might.
What you are doing now?
At your writing desk, ink-stained and strewn with scraps.
Of various heaps of conjuring and dreams.
Oh, your thoughts are endless,
Worried about the jests and taunts of those who are your betters or equals.
Yet in countless minds, you are a wonder without blemish.
How can this be?
Such a small kingdom, yet so many subjects?
You walk to your throne, awaited by courtiers, mindfulness, and truest friends.
The first dressed in the finest of purple, oh what pearl!
Second, dressed in the greenest of fashions, trustworthy,
The third, the undaunting one, decked in most gracious of different reds.
Though you think you need them not, they are there for all the right reasons.
Their words charm your glory and might, marking you as a great conjurer of dreams.
Boundless amount of words, grant you a healthy esteem.
Yet one day, dear Emperor, you will pass on.
With the epithet on your mausoleum,
That suits you well, from your dearest friends,
Here lays a magician of words, casting your spells of bewilderment.
Giving each day, wondrous amazement, here he lays,
let him R.I.P. Our Emperor of Bric-a-Brac.
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