A tragic rime.

 

Saga of the Homophones

Or, Long Knight's Journey into Daze

By Fred Key, Righter

Knight fell slowly on the town

And it hurt him on his knee.

A boulder knight no one could know

It tripped him up, you see.

“This rock has merely hurt my pride;

My hart is much more pained.”

Indeed the dear looked shaken as

He wobbled off, half sprained.

“Sad knight,” his squire said to him,

“Despair misaimed your boot.

I’m saddened to my sole for you!

How sorry is my foot!”

“Alas, the pain is all too reel,

A fishhook in my heart.

It lands my fate I know not wear!

I rend my clothes apart.

I love the Princess Jezebel

If I may bear my sorrow.

The sorrow growls, shows its teeth,

And haunts me for the morrow.

Ah, Jezebel! Beloved one!

Such a gorgeous site!

Yes, her castle is quite nice,

And she’s a bit all right.

I sought to woo her to be mine

I brought a bunch of flours.

The sacks all busted on the way!

Was sweeping up for hours.

Covered as I was I thought

To play a dashing roll.

Alas, she’s gluten-free these days!

She shunned me, on the hole.

When I climbed out I wrote a note

With finest stationary

The note, I fear, I could not send!

Stuck to my reliquary!

I made a book of poems for her;

Enclosed it in a phial.

But all the pages jammed in there

So it was not worthwhile.

Once more I leapt upon my horse

And took him by the rain

Which meant I had to shower off

That horse is such a pain.

At last I rode once more to her

And to her castle peek

I found my interest peaked in her

As in her bath I sneak.

Once more disaster struck, for she

Whose love I tried to steel

Had me tossed out upon the tush

And that raised quite a wheel.

I rolled back home and now I sob

Thwarted in love thrice.

What a scandal! What a waist!

And the rest of her was nice!

You clearly see me in such pane

All riven by love’s wars!

And thus my tail is at its end.”

He pointed to his drawers.

“Such a poem of -- whoa!” the knight

Herd from his faithful flunky

While chasing off a pesky flock

Of sheep who all smelled funky.

The squire said, “A lesson, lord,

Is learned by eye or ear.

And yet ignored, for it is said,

You can’t get there from hear.”

✍🏰🐑