On the island of KitchyKaiYu
Lived a king and a queen (Yes, it's true!)
They rested their bones
On a pair of stone thrones
On cushions of course (wouldn't you?)

One day (it may well have been summer)
As they sat with their butts growing number
Through endless orations
By tribal legations
The pair grew both grimmer and glummer.

In their palace of grass (old colonial)
They sat on those seats ceremonial
Till the queen's derriere
Was so reddened and rare
That she threatened the peace matrimonial.

That night as they massaged their sorrow
The queen cried, 'Let's beg, steal or borrow.
I've a catalog here
From Roebuck and Sear.
I'm ordering new chairs tomorrow!'

'Twas done. Soon the royal posterior
Was seated on softness superior.
The queen was emphatic,
'Those old thrones to the attic!
They're clogging the palace interior.'

Now the ending is far from appealing
(Turn away if you're tender of feeling)
For the weight quite inordinate
Of stone thrones they'd stored in it
Proved more than a match for the ceiling.

The fate of the royals lamentable
Shows even the monarchy's dentable
Their Highnesses splatter
Like pancakes (but flatter)
The enquiry said 'This was preventable.'

The couple's untimely demise
Has a moral not hard to surmise:
If your home's made of grass
Don't be such an ass
To stow thrones; it's prob'ly not wise!