The King and the Thrones
Once there was a king- his kingdom was made up of houses made from the hay, mud and reinforced by waterproof grass fronds from the riverbanks. The king, naturally, had the biggest house, his being the only one in the kingdom to have two floors; a tricky bit of engineering for an all natural structure.
Each year the king, on his birthday, would receive a new throne from his people - the first year they made him a wooden one from the finest trees in the forest. The year after, they had managed to find some tin and bronze, so made him a very happy king. Each year, the old throne would get taken upstairs to the storage as the king liked to walk amongst the collection and reminisce over years gone by.
So ten years had passed, and by now the nation of hut dwellers had become rich enough to buy gold. So this year, the king received a mighty throne. So his old one was taken away upstairs, the huge gold throne hauled in, and another year in the kingdom commenced.
This eleventh year however, was a tough year for the harvest. The sun belted down on the blacksmiths as they made swords and shields for the loyal warriors that protected the realm. They worked tirelessly for a month to make the biggest and most lavishly adorned throne anyone had ever seen.
So the king had his party, the new throne was presented. The grand entrance was only just big enough to get the throne through- but the skill and knowledge of the smiths made it possible.
The golden throne was taken upstairs to join the other nine from years gone by.
That night there was a tragic disaster- the whole royal family was killed as they slept, the whole place collapsed around them. The queen was dead, the heirs were crushed, and a new king was needed for the country. It was a sad night.
What is the moral of the story?
Those who live in grass houses shouldn't stow thrones.
