Of Iain, Beowulfsson, in his
fifteenth year
The Great Remote in unmatched splendour lay
In beauty on the crystal Table of Life.
And were it lost, t’would cause unending strife.
Its buttons glow in rainbow hue,
Magnificent Power shining through.
But lo! The great Dog, canine Beast,
With evil black tail, a sinister whip,
Hath sent the Remote on ill-fated trip!
Their grief resounds through the Great Hall
As for the Remote its denizens call.
Accusation rings through the kitchen,
War cries rebound from the walls,
Soon is sent flying the first red rubber Ball.
Screaming for blood, it rockets through the air
And collides in cruel power
With the Great Patriarch’s glower
Accusation rings through the kitchen,
War cries rebound from the walls.
Fire flames in his eyes, air fills his lungs,
And his roar, like avenging Thunder,
Seems to shatter the very ether.
Accusation rings through the kitchen,
War cries rebound from the walls.
Then the Pater, the Champion, eyes like the deadly hawk,
Espies the Great Remote upon the barren floor of rock,
Its dreadful power gleaming.
He takes it up, a priceless Gem.
The royal household gathers, awe shining in their eyes,
To see the screen of ineffable magic blaring into life
By virtue of the Great Remote.
Reclining there, the kingly Hero on his Throne of Rest,
Having thus concluded battle, chooses entertainments best.
They all sit down together, admiration in their gaze,
When their Father declares: This day has ended Dread.
Therefore and for all, it is time for bed!
Occasionally a young Bard arises unexpectedly. So it is with Iain, 14-year-old son of a most Gentle Reader. Thanks to both reader and son for sharing this humorous, and epic, poem! Please be sure to let him know what you think by voting (cool/not cool) AND leaving a comment. Thank you!
