ather 'round children, in Heaven and Earth
And hear of a sad war once mounted
For too many things are of too little worth
To be measured ere they can be counted.
Once a mendicant friar ruled over a fiefdom
That was built out of charcoal for roasting
Until the town trollop upended the chieftan
With the army that night she'd been hosting.
For the village's mule had dreamt of a galleon
Taking wind to an island of mares.
In such a blessed place, a mule could be a stallion
Still not virile, but in that land, who cares?
All might have gone well, for all but the ass,
And the future secure for the village.
But the chief praised the mule's ambition and class
And the tramp was incited to pillage.
Soon the village was burning, the friar was frying,
The mule chopped up and fricasseed.
All that remained were the dead and the dying
And the trollop for nomads in need.
So here, little children, is the lesson for learning
And remembering wherever ye wander:
Stick to the familiar and don't get caught yearning
For love that's found outside the brothel.UPRISING, n.
The raising of a people by the razing of their platform.