The Emperor’s New Golf Cart

One flashy gift, one reckless drive, one timeless lesson in truth

High on the greens of Pine-Paw Knoll,

Eagleton strutted, demanding the hole.

“Fore!” he cried, in a ruby-red cap—

While caddies fanned feathers and polished his map.

The map was a scorecard he’d secretly rigged,

Proclaiming each bogey a beautiful gig.

“Believe me,” he boasted, “I never shoot worse—

My putter’s pure gold, my handicap’s verse!”

Then rolled a gilt golf-cart on carpets of sand,

Sent by Prince Sand-Grouse from Far-Desert Land;

Its seatbacks were silk, its fenders were jade,

And rumors said wings could unfold when he played.

“Just hop in and drive,” cooed the desert envoy,

“It hums like a jet—why, the sky is a toy!

No need for a license, no tax to the nest;

A gift, noble Emperor, free of the rest.”

Owliver blinked from a nearby pine:

“A present so pricey? That cart should be mine—

Or rather, the Forest’s, if truth holds the reins.

Great gifts buy great favors; they tighten gold chains.”

But Eagleton scoffed, “You whittle-beaked bore!

The cart shows my greatness—now build me a door!

A door in the sky so I’m first in the cloud;

I’ll wave from my sky-cart and thrill every crowd.”

He zoomed off the tee with a thunderous roar,

Leaving bunkers upended and squirrels on the floor.

Maple the Goose cried, “He’s plowing our greens!

That runway of vanity’s crushing our beans!”

The cart sprouted turbines of platinum glaze,

Lifting the Emperor high in a vaporous haze.

He circled the fairway like thunder in gilt,

Dropping snack-packs of ego on saplings he’d wilt.

Yet mid-flight the scorecard slipped out of his vest—

The wind flipped the pages, exposing the jest:

His scores were all fiction, his eagles were cheats;

He’d penciled the numbers while swapping his cleats.

Forest folk gasped as the truth fluttered down:

The Emperor’s strokes were the joke of the town!

“Return us our fairways!” cried Milo the Mouse.

“Return us our shade, and get out of the house!”

Eagleton’s engines began to misfire;

The cart, overburdened with bragging, drew ire.

It listed and drifted, then sputtered to ground,

Where sap-sticky pinecones soon swallowed it round.

Owliver tallied the costs of the stunt:

The acorns diverted, the jobs out in front,

The whisper of secrets for cart-parts unseen—

All traded for one gilded golfing machine.

The Emperor trudged from the crater in shock,

Feathers askew and his comb-over rock.

Maple honked gently, “A cart’s not a crown;

A true leader keeps both their feet on the ground.”

That day the fair forest rewrote every rule:

“All gifts above oak-height must pass public school.

If a present can fly, then so must the books—

For sunlight and scrutiny strengthen our nooks.”

🌱 Moral

A gift that shines too brightly can blind both giver and taker;

transparency, like fresh air, keeps every deal fair.

📣 Call to Action for Young Readers

Next time you see something too good to be true,

ask who it helps, who it hurts, and what it might do.

Draw your own “gift-inspection” badge and use it whenever a flashy offer appears!

✍️ Why I Wrote This

I penned The Emperor’s New Golf Cart after reading reports that a Gulf kingdom planned to present Donald Trump with a $400 million private jet—a gift so opulent it threatened to blur the line between public duty and personal vanity. By shrinking that jet into a gilded, jet-powered golf cart and lifting it into a playful woodland sky, I wanted young readers to laugh first, then ask sharper questions:

• Who benefits when leaders accept extravagant presents?

• What invisible strings might be attached?

• How can ordinary citizens keep power grounded in fairness and truth?

Framed as a romp with Eagleton, Owliver, and Maple, the story turns a real headline into a teachable moment on ethics, transparency, and the danger of letting pride steer the wheel—whether you’re running a nation or just running the next game at recess.