A Typical Fight Scene

By Mr Valentine

The characters in this thingummydoodad don't belong to me. If they did, I wouldn't have anywhere to keep them.

There's sort-of-violence in here, but only in a very silly way. I also work on the assumption that the characters quite like each other. Revolutionary thought, I know.

If you want to comment on this (could happen, you never know), do it at e-g@supanet.com

But anyway....

O'er the countryside rose

Sounds of struggles and blows,

That shattered the previous hush

Of the byways of Greece,

'Twas the sudden decease

Of some bandits who'd lain in ambush.

At the heart of the crowd

Stood a Warrior proud

Boldly facing all foes that beset her,

She had once been, at first,

Of all warlords the worst

But, much like a newt, she got better.

With the Bard, whom she saw

As a comrade in war

And an ally when treachery was rife,

But who she most liked to see

Taken up 'gainst a tree

As her cries of delight scared the wildlife.

The Bard worked her way

Through the seething melee

And one after another, she got 'em.

She fought bravely and well

And tried hard not to dwell

On the imprints of bark on her bottom.

As the Warrior's glower

Made the last bandits cower,

She blocked their escape from the fray,

Running would do no good,

She would teach them they should

Never disturb a warrior at play.

Her sword, with a thirst

For blood, speared the first.

With her left hand she throttled the second.

Then she, rattlesnake fast,

Bit the nose from the last,

Ever clearer her victory beckoned,

A thought which, though grand,

Was premature, and

Her opponents played one final card.

After finishing those three

She whirled round to see

Their Commander sneak up on her Bard.

This malevolent runt

Held the Bard to his front,

Forced to act as an unwilling defender

By a knife at her throat,

The Chief paused now to gloat

And demand that the Warrior surrender,

But fell back with a cry

On being hit in the eye

With a spat chunk of nose which she must

Have kept all this time,

Through the previous rhymes,

In her mouth, to her own great disgust.

His knife no longer near,

The Bard leaped well clear

As the Bandit Chief shivered in dread,

Then an accurate fling

Of a Round Killing Thing

Neatly parted his shoulders and head.

As they, from the scene, walked,

The Bard eagerly talked

But the Warrior, she saw, hadn't listened.

She was shortly to find

What was on her friend's mind

As a new tree was vigorously christened.