The King Who Makes His Own Bed

Carved like a gnome of kitsch merch,
The king has a long white beard
And could be named Charles or Karl
Or Walt, but the base says, Mark.

The king is not at all a king.
He fell down and broke his crown,
But he keeps the shards to show
He had a thing once, you know.

The king gets up when the stars
Are bright due to lack of sun.
An ex-king knows it’s not night
But where you look makes the light.

He’s perched now by a small pine
Where his chipped foot props a book.
There’s no point to his felt cap.
His book’s runes glow in his lap.