…with all apologies to William Blake 🙂
The Champion
Champion, champion, burning bright
Beneath the dark of dawnless light
No shroud stretched from sea to sea
Could dim your awesome majesty
With peerless skill your blades have kissed
Hapless foes to crimson mist
No battle fought that, in despair,
A foe not cry, “A Champion! There!”
I do declare, the sound of Shing!
Has reached unto each Shire farthing
Where hobbits out in search of pies
‘Stead look for lightning in the skies!
It’s not that I’m jealous. I promise, not really!
But the cries in the World grow increasingly silly!
One I heard while in Bree’s skirmish camps?
“Strolling the Shire, one of six, NEED CHAMPS!”
Is there aught to do, for the rest of the classes?
While we look on, as we sit on our… goodness me!
Is, truly, this where the gods their time spend?
You’re OP enough. Why not just ascend?
The day will come when the war is over
And we can climb down from the Champion’s shoulder
The Fourth Age will be the Age of Man
This is the Age of the Champion
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Awesome 🙂 Or in my home dialect, Yorkshire, “Tha wa champion!” (That was good)