The Wheatfields East of Eden

There was a tale about a Queen--
Whose real name was Kathryn.
She was a broken flower,
Unable to be picked, or helped,
And by her dead king lay;
And one day, walking,
Came a talking,
Peasant and he said:
"I could take your pain away."
Queen Kathryn turned her head.
By her King's old grave,
chained like a slave,
she wished to wake the dead,
though restless silent as she lay.
she saw him in her head.
the king, once spurned,
his body burned,
Now dust and ashes out his mouth.

II

There was a tale about a King--
a Noble man for sure;
A bit eccentric, strange indeed,
Though held a strange allure:
He drank some wine,
Smoked Chinese pipes,
And chased the dragon's tail.
He lost his mind,
and lost his chips,
and the King was thrown in jail,
pale bars of the mind and looking out,
for a broken flower by his cage to sprout.
The poor King was locked behind,
The bars he called himself--
his body detached,
a ventriloquist act.
And as he suffered,
locked inside,
He ran from dragons in his mind.