None Shall Pass!
by Ping Yi Yee
The first stands
firm, the blood sword he clasps
matches armour dark beyond compare.
His helm betrays little, his speech
silent
his feet on roots of the great oak yonder.
The second rears back, the reins he
grasps
melt into a priceless harness of air.
His robe gleams white, his bearing
magnificent
his steed a beast of mythical wonder.
The third stays aside, the fruit he holds
forms a fibrous oval with hard-shelled
halves.
His dress is humble, his manner willing
his pack laden with every trinket.
You ponder ’fore the story unfolds…
yet simple it’d be, as with flying
calves,
to resolve this tableau most puzzling
if your role were medieval knnnighet.
- A freeze frame from Monty
Python and the Holy Grail. |
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