When I was just a young boy sitting on my father's knee,
I marveled at all the stories and fables he nightly told to me
And one fable, in particular, stayed in my memory -
About the small kingdom of Lox.

Lox was ruled by a kind and gentle king
Who gave his subjects everything
But he had one quirk, one tiny thing
Which made a paradox.

He would send gifts to his subjects - precious gold and diamond rings,
Porcelain vases, painting masterpieces, pottery and things
But each precious gift he wrapped up, tied it with a piece of string
And used a flimsy box.

The recipients were proud that he had sent them such a token
(Though, normally, when they unwrapped it, they would find it broken),
But they considered him eccentric - not an unkind word was spoken.
Such was life in the kingdom of Lox.

Late last week my father left me - calmly up and passed away,
A spirit so unbending lost to sickness and decay.
The ticking of a heart with strength to take one's breath away
Stopped .... like a rusted, battered clock.

And me, I spend time contemplating life and death and things
And who will win the pennant - will the grass return in spring?
How beautiful the moon looks when I hear Frank Sinatra sing -
And about the small kingdom of Lox.

Now, when nighttime falls and crickets sing
I wonder and ponder on why MY king
Placed such a very precious thing
In such a fragile box.