"The Cattle of the King" (Funerary Bas-Relief in the Metropolitan Museum of Art)

The cattle of the king are kine
of a different color.
They dote on beer and never dine
on any diet duller
than truffles snuffed from vassals’ hands
and honied bales of hay;
they lick their salt from psalter stands —
They always get their way.
No one’s allowed to cow their cows
or bully them in battle;
a cat may look at kingly brows
but not at kingly cattle.
They forage in the castle keep,
they hoof it in the halls;
by lutes they’re lullabied to sleep
in fumigated stalls.
And when they’re called to their reward
to grace His Royal Palate,
they’re lassoed with a silken cord,
and knighted with a mallet.