A Pyramid Called Just-A-Whim

Forecast:

Mostly eyeline sunshine.

In the evening light rain

from high-brow clouds.

Workers, collect all night the tears

and in the morning flood the rock

that blocks the ramp

for an eternal week now.

Meanwhile, the vizier reports

and hears the pharaoh say:

You’ve made my day,

I mean my year.

And when in the star chamber

I will lie, a rock is throne.

Now I feel the beating of the stone

and change my mind to heart.

The pyramid was just a whim.

Go and order work to stop.