THE FOEMAN'S LANCE
by
Bernard Newman

I sat and sighed in the great arm-chair
And ran my fingers through my hair
And cursed the pain which racked me through
And wondered best what I could do
And then the room began to fade
Its contact lost in deepening shade
It seemed I dozed in slumber deep
And ne’er have I known so sweet a sleep
All pain was gone, the very air
Seemed charged with scent of fragrance rare
I gazed as on a beauteous scene
Where all was lovely, nothing mean.

A stately castle, towering walls
Which echoed loud the trumpet calls
And then I saw a lady fair
With sparkling eyes and wondrous hair
She was a picture fair to see
Her lovely form enchanted me
She came to me all dressed in white
And whispered, “Come and be my knight
Come and fight, throw down the glove
To win my favour and my love.”
I donned my armour then and there
And vowed to win that maiden fair.

“To horse! To horse! “ the maiden cried
“With thy firm hand and lance beside
Beware that gaunt Sir Mallory
Who also swears that he loves me.”
I spurred my horse, and galloped fast
Across the lists, until at last
I met my foeman face to face
We made our tilt at furious pace
His charger thundered from afar
And then his lance struck me - Ah-h!
I jumped from my seat with an agonised shout
But the dentist just said, “All right. It’s out!”