His story has been told so oft
it makes the children's brains go soft.
But there is more to his brief tale
than that great fall and epic fail.
The quadrupeds and bipeds vexed
with Humpty's fall were soon annexed
by counselors at law, you see;
they wanted to sue somebody.
And even though for King they worked
around by lawyers they were jerked,
until they really didn't know
which way to come, which way to go.
So they in turn did hire scribes
(who weren't averse to giving bribes)
and soon the court was satisfied
that justice had been ratified.
The judge in robes both black and wide
said Humpty was a suicide.
And no one else was there to blame
for snuffing out his life's short flame.
It was announced to one and all
that Humpty made himself to fall.
But quite a portion of the crowd
thought this was just a phony shroud.
They whispered in the ears of some
that Humpty had been pushed, by gum!
Because he knew a thing or two
about the King's dishonest crew.
And so it spread throughout the land
that murder had been slyly planned
for whistle-blowing eggs that spilled
the royal beans (and they meant "killed.")
Where DID those knights get livery fine,
with so much gold it gave a shine?
How could those pages still afford
to live above their room and board?
The Queen was on the take, they said.
The King stole even pauper's bread.
The palace was so rotten that
from Denmark you could smell a rat.
And so the populace arose
and started in with hardened blows
to topple the regime's long sway.
They did it in a single day.
The king and queen, their heads they lost.
The dukes and knights outside were tossed.
The pages were exiled toot sweet;
the commoners now ate crabmeat.
And all because an ovum fell
(and truly, he was quick to smell.)
A revolution has no legs
unless you start in breaking eggs . . .
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