One Thousand And One Nights

Exploring in my house one dusty day,
I came across a chest, and from it took,
A Thousand Nights and One, a gilded book,
And sitting on the floor I turned each page
Uncovering within a Sultan grim
Who slew each day a wife who wearied him

And one fair wife, Scheherezade by name
A wise young girl, who desperate and bold
Would save her life each day by stories told
Each night she would begin another tale
And rapt the Sultan listened then enthralled
Until the cry for morning prayer was called

There she would stop, and leave the end untold
So thus enthralled the Sultan spared his wife
From death upon the slayer’s bloody knife
Next evening he would beg the ending made,
And she’d oblige, and then she would begin
Once more a story delicate to spin

I closed the book and frowned, and certain knew
My place within that tale. The truth is hard;
I am the Sultan. I Scheherezade.