And the only way he knew how to do that,
was to have a new wardrobe, stat.
So he sent far and wide,
and weavers from all across the Kingdom tried.
They wove, they stitched and they sewed,
but none could please the King, with their show.
‘T was then that two weavers appeared,
Tiny lot and generally weird.
‘We shall weave you a suit, Sire,’
‘That shall be mightier that all your attire.’
‘You see, this suit shall remain invisible,’
‘To all but the wisest possible,’
‘Anyone who cannot see the suit,’
‘Is unfit for office and should get the boot.’
The King was ecstatic, he danced for joy.
Now he would see the simpletons in his employ.
They asked for silk, thread and tools of gold,
All these went to the market to be sold,
Oh, a huge profit did the weavers make,
With the King’s treasury at their stake.
Finally, came the day of the ball,
And the weavers arrived, in their hand was the shawl,
The King gaped and he stared,
He could not see the shawl, he declared.
‘Ah! Then you are a simpleton, my King’
‘You are not fit for this gorgeous thing.’
‘No, No, No. That’s not true,’ the King said,
‘I was only joking and admiring the thread.’
Promptly did the King then wear,
the suit and set about combing his hair.
In his new suit, he strutted, for all to see,
his procession, marching as quick as can be.
‘How beautiful are your clothes, King,’
The crowd, as one voice did sing.
‘But he has nothing on at all,’
screamed a child, not two feet tall.
The King was shocked and knew,
himself a fool and his clothes see-through.
The procession must go on, the King did feign,
But since that day he was never seen again.