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!

The hazy world sharpened
when myopic Maddie
got a new pair of glasses
sitting pretty on her pert nose.

Now she could discern
each leaf in a foliage,
and tell people apart
from a  respectable distance.

She peered at every face,
thrilled that now she could
describe the smallest details
in case she were ever called in
to sit for a police sketch.

Smug glee turned to horror
when her wondering gaze
met quizzical stares
and she recalled
that her glasses
were transparent.