The Other Danish Prince

My prison lacks a rusty cage,
the retched smells of sheer despair.
I need not fear the guard's raw rage.
The torturer prepares his chair,
but not for me, that's not my fate.
For me are banquets and affairs,
though not, of course, affairs of state.
A life of leisure and few cares.

Red velvet drapes are on my walls,
and satin sheets are on my bed,
Fine princesses attend my balls.
No urgency for me to wed --
my uncle says: "do take your time",
still hoping to produce an heir.
I share that hope. Then I could climb
the distant mountains, taste their air.

Or sail into the blue abyss
that beckons out the window sill.
Join desert caravans, and kiss
without a thought to state or will.
I would be free to spend my days
and leave this gilded cage behind.
I'd see it all -- all worth a gaze
and put this castle out of mind.

But he seems sterile, the old goat,
can he perform the needed act?
No soldiers swim across the moat,
the servants whisper, lack of tact.
So what's to be? Idea forms.
Unorthodox, but let it be.
They're not for us, societal norms,
they are for thee, and not for me.

So I will bed his latest wife,
bed her until her belly's full,
and then at last I'll have a life
and he can be the doting fool.
A well laid plan, she's comely, too
and anxious for a proper fit.
And now, it's time to say adieu.
My guard is calling me to eat.