The wingèd Prince doth shed a tear,
Lamenting for his subject dear,
Cleaved in two, a bird once grand,
Now splintered in its master's hand.

No comfort in his mother's arms;
Limited are Queenly charms,
For beauty cannot resurrect,
And so the bird remains a wreck.

A wandering traveller happens upon
The radiant Queen and her sad son,
Without a word, he takes the toy,
And steals it from the Atavian boy.

But unbeknownst to His Highness,
The traveller plans an act of kindness,
And bends his steps past royal maid,
To find the bird some better aid.

For if any in the land can fix
The Prince's toy - 'tis Perdix!
And sure enough, with paint and glue,
It is fixed as though 'twere new.

In the Palace, the Prince still mourns;
All manner of heavenly foods he scorns -
Even Lucinda's finest sweet,
Cannot tempt the boy to eat.

Suddenly! In the stranger strides,
Leaves the toy by the Prince's side,
A kindly smile upon his face,
He bows and leaves with reverent grace.

Onto the bird Elatus bounds -
Through Arcadia his joy resounds,
His wingèd toy, ever adorèd,
Has been so lovingly restorèd.