Crosser at the Bat
by Egil Njalsson, with love
(May 1995)

It looked extremely gloomy     for the P.V. crew that day: The flags in enemy hands     with just two minutes left to play. The long-desir'd visit     by our mighty kingdom seat Had failed to meet our hopes     and we were headed for defeat. Over in Nirvana     sat the pride of our dear group, Knowing time would not allow     their helping out the troop. The Peg'sus Valley leaders     mostly sat in shattered silence, Stunned by what they'd witnessed:     all th' unnecessary violence. But then from out of nowhere     came the one they'd waited for: His hat was donned as out he stepped     through newly-parked car's door. He stood up straight and tall and drew     his sword and held it forth, Determining the King would know     what Crosser's might was worth. Though people in Nirvana     shan't effect a battle game, In one terrific shout they cheered     and screamed out Crosser's name. Though glancing at their watches --     was he slower than the mail? -- They knew that now their savior     had arrived and would prevail. And with the pride of all his years     of fighting for his life, The mighty one strode to the lines     to fin'lly end this strife. Dragonspiners fell before     the mighty Crosser's wrath, Leaving mounds of corpses     in the great avenger's path. He fought to where the flags lay,     then he grabbed them with his teeth, Growling out a vow     his sword would ne'er return to sheath Until the great of Dragonspine     admitted he was best, And offered him their loyalty     and beat upon their breast. With sounds of virile fury     he began his baseward stride, Grinning as the newbies fell     to each and every side. With thirty seconds left     his victory seemed most assured For none, it seemed, defied him     whether human, beast, or bird. While somewhere near his base     a lowly druid left the trees, Where he'd been communing with     the woods and birds and bees. Humbly now he watched as Crosser     marched on strongly by, And though he feared his own death     there was something left to try... Somewhere out in Amtgard realms     a druid chants "commune," Somewhere else barbarians howl     in vict'ry at the moon. But deep inside the Valley     we just hang our heads and moan, Ignoring our new statue:     mighty Crosser's turned to stone.

Return to Egil's home page