Fetid Heart - 2011/04/07

Sword in the scabbard
Armored horse mounted
I tell you a dire tale
Of the fool uncounted
The reins in his hands
He rode off to battle
His friends now share
Only his death rattle

At the hint of trouble
He bellowed and charged
Perhaps many tall tales
Left his ego enlarged
He fell from the saddle
Within the smelly marsh
Consequences of which
Were simply quite harsh

Yet what was more dire
Was a smell that arose
A pungent offensiveness
That assaulted the nose
Yes that fellow lived
To see many more days
Yet his life was over
In many notable ways

For this smell was one
That would never fade
No matter the scrubbing
Or effort that was paid
No princess could he woo
Armed with such a stench
As he even scared away
The ugliest damn wench

He retired as a hermit
Squirreled away in a cave
Tales of his stink grew
Told by many drunk knave
Yet it is with fondness
That we recall his name
As the vile smell of his
Won our war all the same

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