An emperor spoke in poetic verse
Which led to fame for him at first
But after some time became a curse
For the emperor had no prose.

Poetic measure determined his fate
The body politic could not relate
Leaving people in a befuddled state
Yes the Emperor had no prose.

Seeking solutions from all his wise men
Beseeching them each again and again
"When will poetic proclivity end?
For I'm the Emperor and have no prose!"

Long and hard the wise men thought
With no answers to the solutions sought
So they hemmed and hawed, yelled, argued and fought,
Still the Emperor had no prose.

The Emperor ended his quest in time
No cure for his affliction could he find
Relinquished the throne and became a mime
At least he was able to pose!