There was an orc, his name forgotten,

Who, in a battle that he fought in, 

Found an elf, came up and cried,

Getting jeers from every side,

"Come, meet my sword upon its point!

Let it taste blood! Its blade anoint!"

The elf did meet his challenge brave,

But nought but death could this orc save,

For the elven-blade was fell and swift,

And its wielder with it had a gift.

His flesh was ripped, his limbs now torn,

From the sockets. How forlorn

Were the ones who had to bring him back.

(They carried all his pieces in a sack)

So from this story take a moral,

Make sure you’ll win before you quarrel.



© 2002 by Lightblighting Ltd. All rights reserved.