The King With The Broken Crown

He came a long way,
this King, to lay his precious 
gift before the child
bearing it over mountains
and valleys, streams and
fast-flowing rivers, desert
and quiet places with no
wind, where the wolves

Somewhere, along the way, he
stumbled and his beautiful
crown fell, dashed against
a rock, and broke.  There
was no fixing it.  He picked
it up, ruefully, as his
friends halted, and in
silence he turned it.

There was no fixing it -
the gems were lost and
the precious metal dented, scraped,

cracked.  No weld would work.
He put it in his saddle-bag
and smiled as he tied.
A symbol of his broken-ness,
his imperfection, and the
cost of the journey.  It 
did not affect the gift.
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