View source for The Diminutive Buckawn

[[Category:Bardic Merit Awards]][[Category:2006 Bardics]]
By: Idris
Posted on: January 30, 2006


Diminutive Buckawn, your manners are coarse.<br>
Your hair is dishevelled and tangled as gorse.<br>
Of honour, you possess the share of a flea,<br>
No wit, no charisma, your outlook is dismal.<br>
The tip of my rapier your future shall be.<br>
And who shall come running to vindicate thee?<br>

The green forest Dryads with bright tears are weeping,<br>
Rain of the Ithmia into earth seeping.<br>
Mourning the dead and tormented spirits.<br>
Tree-sisters bound, thrown coldly to ground.<br>
Now softly, as vengeance approaches. You hear it?<br>
Yea, little Buckawn, my battle song. Fear it.<br>

Oh! So you've a quick blade of your own.<br>
Come knave and reap the seeds you have sown.<br>
You'll soon wish your sword a plough-share again.<br>
Red moon take the sky, the harvest draws nigh,<br>
And I've nary a field but this deep forest glen<br>
And the old dingy fortress you skulk around in.<br>

The Forest is Watching our sanguinary duel.<br>
Will I or this wizened Buckawn play the fool?<br>
In my mind's recesses, sage words I am heeding.<br>
True to my vow to swashbuckler, Ms. Brau,<br>
With style and flair my rapier is speeding<br>
To puncture my foe 'fore I succumb to this bleeding.<br>

My taunting is flawless, I dodge with such grace<br>
That I narrowly miss being spit in the face.<br>
The Buckawn's old mates have arrived; there are three,<br>
Bright-helmed and quick with dirks that do prick.<br>
From a gash in my side the blood rushes free.<br>
And who shall come running to resurrect me?<br>