The King with Stolen Papers

In tailcoats fine and patent shoes,

He crossed the Pyrenees,

A foreign tongue, a monarch’s ruse,

And forged nobility.

With monocle and haughty air,

A tale he spun with flair—

Of tsarist blood and courtly prayer,

A crown he'd proudly wear.

Andorra, small and ruled by two,

He called a backward land,

He promised trains and taxes new

With profit close at hand.

“I’ll bring you roads and wealth and might,”

He told them with a grin,

“If only you will crown me right—

Let royalty begin!”

They laughed at first, but then they thought:

Why not this princely rogue?

He printed laws, reforms he brought,

And wore a kingly vogue.

A week he ruled with wax and seal,

A monarch with no throne,

But soon the Spanish made appeal—

He’d trespassed zones unknown.

They came with guns to take him down,

This king in silk and shame,

Andorra stripped away his crown

And laughed upon his name.

Exiled once more to the mist,

He vanished into myth,

A pauper prince, an anarchist,

A monarch born of myth.

So raise a glass to royal lies,

To crowns that barely gleam,

To men who rule with no allies—

And kingdoms made of dream.