Kingdom of Understanding

In the warm flesh of the living, as he stood at this moment, there was everything in him to desire, be you man or woman, although if you are a man 'tis often called envy. His eyes were of the most valuable silver, for none other had eyes that colour. His hair was of hues of marigold and emeralds, and the locks fell upon each other welcoming. His forehead proud to contain his intelligence and his mind, his secret garden. His nose chiselled and slightly acute, maybe even slightly too small, but only to the harshest of critics of big noses. His lips the softest confectionery and 'twas desired to kiss them for a taste of sugar.

A vital man, a hunter and diplomat, a sportsman and linguist, a scientist and philosopher. A complete success. A King. He was also handsome and benign, and 'twas said he was a strong swimmer. He wore always velvet, and his clothes were uncanny in their seasonal change. In the dying, fading, receding autumn, the subdued colours of yellow, orange and brown. In winter’s cold challenge, the siege of white. In spring, the luminous greens of underleaf. In summer, the glare of yellow corn and the brown of yearning earth. He did represent, in his clothing, the exact mood of the season, even the exact disposition of the day.

His kingdom was the happiest in all of history, the history that had gone and that which is yet to happen. His people had little to do but feed in the absence of greed, nurture their families, smile at every stage in their lives and store their memories in a treasure box. There were no diseases, no plague, no suffering, no torture and no war, for the people did not know what they were. Suffering was not documented, neither on paper, nor in the eyes of the aged. They that wished to walk did so, guided by harmony and  flattered by fortune, until such a time came that they wished to lie down and return to the earth that fed them.

The King was indeed satisfied as he looked on, his gracious eyes embracing the pastoral vale and contentment beyond.

And yet there was no queen...no wife...and a man without a wife is butter without a knife.... a lonely man is bitter about life.... a woman is the better part of life.... and these were the thoughts that flowed through the King's generous mind. The King, as you can see, also fancied that there was a volume of poetry to discover in his subtle, emotional soul.