The fat spider
writhing in the sun
claims that he’s
accountable to no one

Those he owns
rush to his defence
or make pretence
of attack.

The crown prince,
inheritor of this, this,
chaos,
skitters across the web
darning tears as best a son
more decisive than right
can manage.

And Lachlan the deposed
laughs bitterly
well outside the range
of arrows
now aimed
at James.

Percy Dovetonsils

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rupert-3/