In-Con Sequential Art
Wednesday
Apr292015

Oak and Iron, Guard Me Well

Knight of the hedges; tall, dumb, and rough around the edges
Lacking skill at the kill, but putting paid to my pledges
And it's legends I'll be making with every undertaking
Bone breaking, no mistaking, leave 'em in their armor quaking
'Cause whoever dares to dance with Ser Duncan the Tall
Will taste the dirt ass over kettle once he's taken a fall
But before all that commences, let the legendry leaven
Trial of Seven, on my honor though it send me to heaven
Back of the hand to the dandy, drawing blood from Daerion Brightflame
Yeah, nice name; this knight blamed, but princes can't abide shame
So claiming he's been wronged after assaulting a maiden
Tanselle Too-Tall, but not for me; my anger awakened
And gather riders; easy for him, he owns many a knight
I'm in the right, but who will fight? Beside me, no one in sight
So riders begged, made, honored, and harrowed, in single file
The profile of men of honor, the Seven witness the Trial

The Father's face is stern and strong,
he sits and judges right from wrong.
He weighs our lives, the short and long,
and loves the little children

The Warrior stands before the foe,
protecting us where e'er we go.
With sword and shield and spear and bow,
he guards the little children

Still green, but ripe now; a Fossoway foe, a Fossoway friend
Tossed away chalice for elm; a body lays dead, a dogged day ends
A squatted Egg friend denies his destiny for me
High lord to hedge squire, better knight for lordling
So I'll be gorging on duck and lamb, noble man with aurochs hands
Too tall is tall enough, nobody's banner took a princely stand
Reception grand, a golden stag that cost a copper
Seems my ribs were bid to be a sharp lance stopper
Humfreys sacrificed in vice and vile of a horse killer
Better men will rest in night forever; dragon dies, growing chiller
Feeling neither drunk nor dark, trial won but without victor
Bitter yield, sunset shield, smatter with a villain's ichor
Never know what comes tomorrow, champion to choose my cause
Sheltered by the world's pavilion I will ride where glory draws
Star is falling, south is calling, well aware this path will yaw
He always loved his sunsets, but I find my sigil bares the dawn

The Smith, he labors day and night,
to put the world of men to right.
With hammer, plow, and fire bright,
he builds for little children

The Seven Gods who made us all,
are listening if we should call.
So close your eyes, you shall not fall,
they see you, little children