Playing Dead For Biscuits

A young knight embrace title,
the way man embrace his tale;
Fiction? it is a fools pretense -
to grow to know must we?


For the hell of it:


These men, sons all of them,
sit as sons far from young -
with a warm cynical heart;
A shield to have you see, these -
escape scorn escape pity ...

These men, fathers all of them,
stand as fathers unafraid -
with a loving wrathful tear;
A sword to have you see, these -
dare speak dare listen bravo!