Tilting at Windmills
by Nancy Ness

A noble knight, the gallant Sir Hirsute,
No enemy this warrior shan't quell.
To fell his foe each day was his repute
His kingdom of grand chivalry did tell.

'Tis said his ventures span til googol's end
In stalwart sentinel at Sturgeon stance,
Deflaying looming giants who portend
Minacity to Hirsute's sprightly lance.

This valiant knight, a full brigade of one
Foreboding sword, he and his mighty steed
El Ronicante bear battle cries 'til dawn.
No count of peril does brave Hirsute heed.

Traversing mount and moor, each foe succumbs
To brazen knight, in combat cruel and fierce.
Day's end with tattered lance Sir Hirsute sums
The victories of giants he did pierce.

Fair DameSal who by sheltered wood resides,
A maiden in consort of giant quest.
Impervious, her tatted cloak beside
Protective shield envelops knightly rest

For she beholds with perspicacious eye
That flailing arms of augur's giant sail
Are vanes of winmill's whirligigs a-sky.
Evoking Hirsute's chivalrous regale.

She deftly hones his oaken lance each day;
Thence sabred knight, his kingdom he'll defend
And in his fervid crusade he shall splay
Each vanquished giant three sheets to the wind.