Thoughts from an Underling

While the world holds its fools,

Its jesters, and its kings,

What riches lay for us,

The small underlings?

Are we of their kind?

Are we some new breed?

How would kings, fools or jesters,

know truly what we need?

We are not here purely by mistake,

Nor do we have a common woe.

We were placed here, somehow,

some many years ago.

We reckon we came with the fools, kings and jesters.

Maybe we were once friends,

Or perhaps worse:

pretenders.

Maybe we mocked them for their hair,

Or their high heeled, pointy shoes.

Maybe we envied their wealth,

Maybe we all had different views.

Maybe we hated them as people,

Maybe they had no manner.

Maybe we thought we were better,

But we now know who brings the hammer.

We are bound to a courseless fate,

Whereas bountiful courses fill their plate.

And while they search for a submissive mate,

We wonder what will become of our state.