The fat spider <br />writhing in the sun <br />claims that he’s <br />accountable to no one <br /> <br />Those he owns <br />rush to his defence <br />or make pretence <br />of attack. <br /> <br />The crown prince, <br />inheritor of this, this, <br />chaos, <br />skitters across the web <br />darning tears as best a son <br />more decisive than right <br />can manage. <br /> <br />And Lachlan the deposed <br />laughs bitterly <br />well outside the range <br />of arrows <br />now aimed <br />at James.<br /><br />Percy Dovetonsils<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rupert-3/
