The royal carpenter appears
Before the court today at nine
He’ll prove the throne room floor adheres
To palace standards of design
Big trouble looms if he should fail
If flaws are found he’ll lose his head
No mercy, no appeal, no bail
Wood good? He lives. Floor bad, he’s dead
The bow-legg’d plaintiff, ankle sprained
And fractured leg in plaster cast
Seeks recompense for hurts sustained
Before the queen on Thursday last
The floor was weak, now he is maimed
Bad workmanship’s the cause, not fate
And furthermore, his doctor claimed,
One crooked leg will now be straight
The damages the queen and king
Can scarcely bear to think upon
Three mounds of fine-spun golden string
And their first child may soon be gone
Their co-respondent will insist
The claimant stamped too hard his boot
And pray the judge says, “Case dismissed”
In Rumplestiltskin’s civil suit
Today, when childless and too old
One need not be so reprobate
The man who spins straw into gold
Can well afford a surrogate
From “Chryme and Punishment”