sniffed in the smoke of panatela,
he taught the fish how to swim,
with little sagacity he jumped into the pool,
no one knew he was such a fool,
the next sunshine,
he grabbed the only eagle left on the tree,
summoned it with the sound of eerie,
the eagle onslaught the poor boy,
as if he was a freckle old toy,
it wasn’t his day of bliss,
the anger grew in his chest,
he shot the flying king with flintlock,
scarred off the feather of crotchety nest,
a doubtful hatred mocking his fruitless mind,
as he came across and took the carrion trophy,
he may not deceives his sympathy,
the fallen king loses his crown,
to the man who would not be renowned.
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