by Maredudd Cymysglyd ap Cynan, Pencenedl, Ty Bondu
(A poem inspired by the Lady Morwen. I'm her bud! Wookub!)
©1997, Eric C. Smith
T'was Trimaris Tourney, Memorial week,
Anno Societatus twenty and eight,
(Thats ninteen ninty three by that Gregory geek),
on a fine summer ev'en fore it got too late,
When the questers set out for more drink to seek,
and a tale of renown was witnessed by fate.
When the sun goes down and the quest gets its start,
A lady of renown forms the parties heart.
For strong drink that quenches, the spirit restore,
Naughty baudy wenches and their quest for more!
When the questers called out, 'all mugs have gone dry'
T'is a state of despair to make the drunk cry,
But lads, we take heart, like the sailors they swore
And more bottles appeared, their mugs full once more!
When the moon was just risen, they called for faiths offer.
T'was alms for the needy, or at least the non-sober.
Of wine, beer, and wiskey they cried alms restore,
May the questers be praised, their mugs filled once more
When the questers resolve had fled with the best
Their steam taken from them by a long even's quest
A shoulder to rest on, no sound but a snore
'Til the morrow well rested, then questing once more!
Alms for the sober
Alms for the sort of drunk
Alms for the mostly drunk
Alms for the really drunk
Alms for the trashed
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