Saturday Knights

Poem

by George H. Scott, Jr.

In times that have faded,
When Brave knights crusaded,
and rode on charging white steeds.
With banners a flying,
and no thought of dying,
on the game table we copy their deeds.

One knight was Sir Tuck,
but, with his visor stuck,
charged with lance backwards, I fear.
Blindly hitting the foe squarely,
causing him to halt verily,
he skewered three friends to his rear.

Alas, the Dukes observation
of Sir Tucks situation
caused him to form a total new plan.
He recalled all his forces,
had them put all their horses
facing the foe in a long straight line.

When the charge was ordered,
as one they galloped forward
'til twelve paces to where the foe dined.
Then their direction reversed,
and to the rear they burst
with their lances all pointing behind.

Now the foe began thinking
the knights valor was sinking,
chased after them, nose to tail.
With scimitars held high
yelling "we do or die!"
"With Allah we cannot fail!".

Then the Duke, with a great shout
ordered "halt, don't turn about!"
and a thunderous crash ended the race,
The knights with great relief
had only praise for their chief
for the foe were all spitted in place.

The games sudden ending
caused a question to be pending
from the leader of the foe.
To the umpire he cried
no morale dice were tried
the knights were retreating, you know.

The umpire then stated
the withdrawal you cited
was part of the overall scope.
But be of good cheer
and have another cold beer,
see you all next Saturday I hope.

When the umpire departed
the clean up then started
the host showing all their proper places
the foot figures go here,
mounted figures over there,
the Saracens in their assigned spaces.

The table now was clean
and the group began to scheme
the plan for next weeks get together.
Waterloo was selected,
and the guy who suggested
Dungeons and Dragons was barred forever.


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