The emperor marched through the center of town,
All people were courteous, all eyes were down.
An archer, his long bow taut and ready,
Was set to strike, his aim was steady.
The emperor danced through the crowd,
Dignified, majestic, and very proud.
Many maidens turned red from head to toes,
No one dared question the emperor’s new clothes.
Finally one young lad, innocent or not,
Put question to what the town folk thought.
The men gasped and held their breath,
Surely the lad would meet his death.
The emperor heard what the young lad said,
And he almost screamed, “Off with his head!”
But murmurs of truth swept the day,
The tailors were apprehended and told to pray,
The punishment was clear, “Crime doesn’t pay.”
The tailors were stripped, without shirts or pants,
Buried to their necks, covered with honey and ants.
A farce that tested the emperor’s ego,
Almost ended badly, because politicians know,
Their pants should stay up, even on their own farm,
Because without restraints, they lose their charm.
Each farce exposed means an emperor loses face,
And the whole world sees another naked disgrace.
May 18, 2017