- Joined
- Dec 22, 2000
- Messages
- 5,811
'Twas the night before Kris-Mas, when all grinding must stop,
Not a c-wheel was turning, at anyone's shop;
The blade blanks were stored in each Smith's favorite lair,
With hopes that a miracle would soon come to bear;
The Bali-Folk gathered from hither and yond,
To celebrate Kris-Mas at Middle Earth pond;
Some Knightly, some brazen, some Elven, some Dwarfed,
Some common, some wealthy, some novel, some morphed;
These masses were gathered with uncommon glee,
For they soon would bear witness, to the first Kris-Mas tree;
The handles so lustered, the inlays precise,
With blades wearing edges as clean as fresh ice;
Each piece was placed gently, with the utmost of care,
Handles spread freely, with branches to spare;
Emotions were rising as the tree took to form,
But soon came a sadness, an emotional storm;
Participants gathered and smiles turned to frowns,
Our work had been joyous, but our planning not sound;
We gazed at our workings, and viewed it as junk,
For no matter the beauty, we had not a TRUNK; :grumpy: :footinmou
A red Moon grew glaring on new Middle Earth snow,
The wind howled like Demons, at our uncharted blow;
When, what to our frost bitten ears did we hear,
The sound of a Burr-King, not far, but not near;
Our heads turned abruptly, eyes blinded with fire,
The sparks flew like hearth stones, with both fury and eyre;
Both Elvens and Dwarves, soon knew just what to do,
Our TRUNK was in making, our dream may come true;
The word spread quite wildly, and the rumors they flew,
The return of the [Master].., was it coming.., and true?
A mist floated to us, 'twas both chilling yet mild,
And a calm came upon us as we whispered as child;
From the bowels of the darkness strode a wide shouldered man,
Cloaked in blackness, and hooded, clutching cold steel in hand;
He mounted the piece as the TRUNK of our tree,
And was gone to the mist without word nor decree;
All Dwarves, and all Elvens scurried quickly to follow,
But he stopped them by signal, they returned back in sorrow;
His figure moved swiftly, and the wind seized to blow,
The mist became snowflakes, the Moon's glare became glow;
As we watched his departure, came a thunderous roar,
But 'twas simply his Dragon, which he mounted to soar;
But we heard him exclaim, perching briefly on ledge...
Merry Kris-Mas from [The Far Side].., and to all a sharp edge!"
Not a c-wheel was turning, at anyone's shop;
The blade blanks were stored in each Smith's favorite lair,
With hopes that a miracle would soon come to bear;
The Bali-Folk gathered from hither and yond,
To celebrate Kris-Mas at Middle Earth pond;
Some Knightly, some brazen, some Elven, some Dwarfed,
Some common, some wealthy, some novel, some morphed;
These masses were gathered with uncommon glee,
For they soon would bear witness, to the first Kris-Mas tree;
The handles so lustered, the inlays precise,
With blades wearing edges as clean as fresh ice;
Each piece was placed gently, with the utmost of care,
Handles spread freely, with branches to spare;
Emotions were rising as the tree took to form,
But soon came a sadness, an emotional storm;
Participants gathered and smiles turned to frowns,
Our work had been joyous, but our planning not sound;
We gazed at our workings, and viewed it as junk,
For no matter the beauty, we had not a TRUNK; :grumpy: :footinmou
A red Moon grew glaring on new Middle Earth snow,
The wind howled like Demons, at our uncharted blow;
When, what to our frost bitten ears did we hear,
The sound of a Burr-King, not far, but not near;
Our heads turned abruptly, eyes blinded with fire,
The sparks flew like hearth stones, with both fury and eyre;
Both Elvens and Dwarves, soon knew just what to do,
Our TRUNK was in making, our dream may come true;
The word spread quite wildly, and the rumors they flew,
The return of the [Master].., was it coming.., and true?
A mist floated to us, 'twas both chilling yet mild,
And a calm came upon us as we whispered as child;
From the bowels of the darkness strode a wide shouldered man,
Cloaked in blackness, and hooded, clutching cold steel in hand;
He mounted the piece as the TRUNK of our tree,
And was gone to the mist without word nor decree;
All Dwarves, and all Elvens scurried quickly to follow,
But he stopped them by signal, they returned back in sorrow;
His figure moved swiftly, and the wind seized to blow,
The mist became snowflakes, the Moon's glare became glow;
As we watched his departure, came a thunderous roar,
But 'twas simply his Dragon, which he mounted to soar;
But we heard him exclaim, perching briefly on ledge...
Merry Kris-Mas from [The Far Side].., and to all a sharp edge!"
