Dragonshaven Threes
An Orginal Work by Sir Greylin
Camped upon Finlayson's land beneath a starry sky,
We've made a new man Baron and the merriment is high!
The feast was great, the fighting grand, and the bards they start to play,
But no one is aware that Dragonshaven's been betrayed!
Of three things be wary, if they ever cross your trail--
A sable cat, a starving wolf, and an MP drug detail!
Someone who was exiled has a debt she must repay,
A debt of fear and misery, our happiness to slay,
She's sent a pair of minions with their thoughts in full accord,
And borrowed from the deities the seeds to sow discord!
Three things know no limits--a drunkard on a binge,
Barbarians berserking, and a harridan's revenge!
The minions reach an elfscribe and their mischief soon begins,
They call the Fort Hood constables with lies and bitter grins!
They tell of swords and daggers worn by Lady and by Lord,
Of drugs hid in a Rodent's van--an ugly secret hoard!
Three things no defense may ward--the poison-venomed blade,
The sphere of annihilation and the well-planned covert raid!
In they come, the constables, led by their leader Rock,
They charge into our reveling with pistols drawn and cocked,
They order us to lie down in the damp and chilly grass
And keep our voices silent--none were courteous, alas!
Three things do not anger or your battle won't be won--
A wizard wise, a dragon red, or a soldier with a gun!
They struck the mage Morganna with their rude and armored feet,
They dragged our sleeping Seneschal into the pebbled street,
They dragged apart two lovers, were not chivalrous or kind--
But what we did not bring along no search can ever find!
Three things always frustrate--a passion that's betrayed,
An hour of fruitless searching, and a teasing, virtuous maid!
The problem it was settled with no folk of ours in jail,
The bruises will heal slowly and the truth it will prevail,
But Dragonshaven's populace will never soon forget
That yielding to the pistol-wielder is your safest bet!
Three things to remember--the Constable is Lord,
Finlayson's fief is Federal land--and a pistol ranks a sword!
11-8-94
Sir Greylin Mac Moran Silverstar, M.B., M.R.
