Charlemagne and the Sea

Tired of the daily tasks of his long reign,
Of harassing Saxons and running his grand domain,
Charlemagne heard the sea call to him:
“Your Majesty! Get over here and take a swim!
Come, Charlie Highness, grab your sword,
Your crown, your cloak, a pair of briefs of silver and gold,
Your retinue, your squires and knights,
And come for a swim, my noble lord!”
And so he saddled up, with guards in file,
His summer gear, his battle kit,
And rode toward the coast in style—
A kingly man with royal grit.
He wasn’t tall, but rode with pride,
With soldiers marching in his wake.
He reached the shore, surveyed the tide,
And claimed the surf for kingdom’s sake.
He built in sand not castles—far too plain—
But a seaside chapel, small yet neat,
Then changed into a bathing mail of chain
With pearls and rubies on the royal seat.
And thus he dove through foamy swells
As if they were an Umayyad host,
A paddle here, a splash, excited yells,
A battle fought—all win and zero fails.
One swordfish thought to test his mettle,
He poked it once with the Joyeuse and that was that—
Then floated back to shore to gently settle
On the hot sand, like some amphibious aristocrat.
But lo! A ship slid into view,
Its mast and sails in rigging trim—
And that reminded him of royal things to do,
Of laws, campaigns and paperwork awaiting him.
He waved farewell to every crest,
The fish, the gulls, the sun-soaked west,
And rode away, his beard still wet,
To draft new laws and thwart the Saxon threat.
But since it wasn’t a grand campaign—
No crown, no spoils, no foes growling in pain—
No chronicler would deem it grand,
Save this odd poem, written in the sand.