A Peasant And His King

A peasant asked his king,
Not as if he were an oracle,
But plainly as if father and son,
"Do you believe in miracles?"

The king was silent and still,
So the peasant waited, too,
But not a word broke the silence,
And the king strolled onwards.

Persistent, the peasant followed,
Not expecting much at this rate,
Though he asked another question,
"Do you believe in fate?"

Yet still the king did not respond,
As if he favored the doubt.
Gradually his pace increased,
Until he was lost in the crowd.

Returning home disheartened,
The peasant lay awake.
He knew well enough the story,
Why the king dare not speak.

Riches, status, nobility -
Everything the peasant lacked.
Those were all the king he cared for,
And those would open the door.

It took him no more than years,
The peasant persevered.
He finally became a noble,
And nothing less than noble.

Engulfed by a wonderful banquet,
The peasant had his chance.
Blind to the food and the music,
He met his king before the final dance.

The peasant asked his king,
Not as if he were an oracle,
But plainly as if father and son,
"Do you believe in miracles?"

And the king did smile silently still,
Though he added in a whimsical voice,
"One who makes a noble from a peasant,
Needs not the crutch of fate."