The feeling under

your fingertips

was still true.

From sun up

to sun

down

just as long.

Normality was

a quiet

that you've never known

and

hooves,

manual labor,

the smell,

wood and stone.

They didn't know

that kings were, too,

uncomfortable.



When you imagine

them, remember:

the world was still

in color.

Each line in a poem
must be necessary.
No fat.

The theme must be
universal.

The language must be
colloquial.

Rigorously adhere to these rules
and you will have a poem
that I would write.