- Vol. 10
- Chapter 03
Conspiracy theorists gather round
With an observation I’ll astound
This 14th century, brave sir knighted
Is not a man with honour plighted
For see the crest on his great helm hat?
It’s a patent shoe with buttoned spats!
Yet know your Twain and the truth is clear
Our knight is no imposter here
He’s Hank the Yank: man out of time
Concussed when he was in his prime
Though here’s no crowbar to his head
Here ‘tis a lance coronel instead
But it has caught him near as hard
To send him toppling off his charge
And to say he’s ‘winded’ does scarcely tell
His jumbled thoughts as he is felled
With head fair rattling in its housing
Our Hank is loud apologies espousing
For his unseating ‘fore this crowd
(Who’ve started booing very loud)
Cuts deeper than a broad sword might
His heart has quite lost all its fight
And while smug Sir Sagramore swift dismounting-
Summons his squire with mace for clouting
The Yank: a hero vanquished now
Just lays there on the ground and howls.
And here’s a lesson all can learn
- Live in your own time
- And fighting spurn.