By: Shorin Posted on: April 17, 2005
The challenge of wits
The game for the quick.
Show if you glow the brightest
Or if you're a cold wick.
The riddle's announced,
Blood rushes through your veins
All sapience rushes
Little structure remains
The joy of the puzzle
The love of the game
Do you come out a winner,
Or hang head in shame?
For the few who are quickest
Sharpest wits, swiftest feet,
'Tis their day of glory
Lord Clementius, they will meet.
He grant's them a boon
They may ask what they wish,
But be wary, young riddlemeister,
Don't overfill your dish.
For there have been a few
Who asked for too much
They overstepped bounds
And feared the Lord's clutch
For Clementius, you see
Has a way with words
You may ask for what pleases you
And be given just desserts.
Regardless of outcome
If you win, if you lose.
The riddle's for everyone,
Just lay off the booze.