#WritcoPoemPrompt120

The wind carried words through the sky that blew thee,
Lying on a velvet swing.
Swinging under a tree,
Whilst waiting for the King.

The king marched in with pride and conceit,
And sat on his majestic throne.
Presented before him was a man of deceit,
With cuffed hands the tired man trode.

"Oh noble king!"he pleaded,
"Thy divinity is greater than God himself."
With an eloquent voice the man lied,
As...