It is no secret that the king visits the pathways at night,
He places maps, plans and flowers under the slabs.
There are curious folk who try to lift the stone,
Twisting their bodies from left to right,
But all they achieve are scars, bad backs and bloodied scabs.
Scrappy fingernails are also a result of trying,
Alongside a bruised ego.
There’s no telling how far the king’s subjects would pursue this quest,
How far they would go…
Even if it were to be all in jest.