The Crimson Court

On a day in the spring, when the bell towers ring,
Many vile a patron gave rout
To the queen and the king, and the squires that sing,
In the courtyards and gardens about.

Many bishops and pawns were left dead on the lawn,
And what glory their murderers quaffed!
As the evening drew on, and the night turned to dawn,
All those killers drank richly and laughed.

But they never quite left all those courtyards bereft,
And they donned all those corsets of gold.
By ambrosia they slept; all those soldiers they kept,
Who did just as those murderers told.

On a day in the fall, from the ramparts and walls,
Many vile a patron gave rout
To those killers of gall in their crystalline halls
In the courtyards and gardens about.