The Combat Archer
“Your pardon, Sir, I’m sure you were
Quite heedless of my kill
And never thought my arrow shot
Struck full upon your grill;
I just wanted to alert you
As a service, as I’ve said
A combat archer loosed a bolt
That hit you in the head.”
“And who are you, when day is through
That you should come to me
A chainéd knight, with belt of white
And leaves of strawberry?
I recognize no injury
From men of lesser skill
So take your little bow, my man
And hit me where you will.”
“Hold on, Your Grace, I know my place
But serf or chivalry
The rule’s the same within this game
For you as well as me;
Perhaps my King’s commander
Or the marshal of the field
Would like you to explain why you
Have no intent to yield.”
“Though you may press, there’s no redress—
I’m on the B-oh-D;
The autocrat wants her brass hat;
The marshal works for me
I outrank each official
Even up to your own Crown
There’s no one you can turn to
Who will tell me to lie down.”
“Your Grace, I see we disagree
In little things and great;
I will not plead, but here concede
The point in our debate
Since honor cannot move you
To behavior just and right
Perhaps there is another way
To make you see the light
Though next to you, I’ve titles few
I’ve something to confess--
In life mundane, I must explain
I’m with the IRS;
So, unless you want an audit
Every year until you’re dead
You’ll lie down when a combat archer
Hits you in the head!”
