The Oath Of Kings Park

by Daniel Hall Kleinmeier
(Freeport, N.Y.)

Where a Connecticut frost makes the Nissequogue haze
There's a column of mansions colored burgundy beige

One holds the King, some porcelain, and a vine
Its rafters have yellowed, and cracked out of line

Now in town was the Mayor, with a General or two
They ruled the King's Park, where the trains come to view

But a coffin near a well bled a sulfuring smell;
of a poisonous, delicate, ferment

It's fangs unwound, and maddened the town
Fast like a ghost going through cement

Like a patient in a cell, their sanity fell
Caged baboons, pounding a drum

They groveled and drooled, as they whistled the gruel
Those thirsty weavers, now loom in asylum

So an ode to Kings Park, where everything's swell
I left it yesterday, 'cause I wasn't quite well

They pointed me East, 'cause the Kings out of order
In the Nissequogue haze, still drinking his water

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