The Emperor stood in golden thread, “Look at my wealth!” his minions said, “My coins rise higher every day, And all who doubt shall fade away.”
The courtiers cheered and clapped with glee, “His Royal Wallet rules the spree!” But whispers crept behind closed doors — “That gilded gown’s just fiscal lore.”
“Buy more!” he cried, “This wealth is true!” The brokers bowed, the buyers flew, Yet numbers danced on phantom wings, And shadows stretched behind the king.
Then came a child with voice so clear, “The Emperor’s broke — his fortune’s sheer!” The crowd fell still, the brokers pale, As golden winds began to fail.
The ticker tumbled, markets crashed, The Emperor’s garments torn and trashed, While common folk stood wide and grim — “He wasn’t rich… we carried him.”
So hush, my dear, let markets fall, The richest kings may lose it all, But those who trust in gilded lies, Find empty coffers when truth arrives.
