Certain as a symbol of pride and worth,
To think of as other than his own brings end to mirth.
‘Tis oft suspected that it has no end
as its circuitous route its way doth wend.
Look you there now; another doth appear
In stunning majesty its value comes quite clear.
But woe betide any who hold it falsely
As shame shall follow ‘til he is wracked by palsy.
Some plain, some decked with metal or gems
this one’s own’r doth wear his plain as plain
can be; for he is not a fellow who craves
fanciful colors or silk, but lesser things
do suit his fancy, and while it is quite true
That _or_ doth frequently adorn, a man would rue
The day that he did call its wearer by that name
Which frequently ‘tis known for coward’s stripes.
Night’s good color does also adorn the head
of him who holds this token most worthy.
How’er, you may have heard tell of his japes
Of which most notable and famous doth involve
A certain recent happening in the frozen wastes
Of the middle regions of our fair Atlantia
In which did legions of warriors strive
Amidst the white-draped hills and valleys steep
For prize both sides contested, and the victor
Did give his body’s every drop of life
To prove in deed that the midden ground was theirs.
So please, pray tell, of what and who I speak,
And do it, please, at least, within a week.
This was a poem I wrote about Sir Kane O’Shannon’s belt and a rather funny thing he did at an Ice Castles some years ago, as a riddle poem in a contest for an event that happened either in the East or Middle Kingdom, if I remember correctly. I wasn’t able to make the event and sent the poem to the person running the competition and was told that it was a reasonably good poem but that it was too vague for their purposes.
