Nov 042007

“The third guy from the left, along the trestle board,
Who drank a bit more mead than strictly needed… Him,
The one with orange hair and braids all down to here.

Yeah, that’s the guy. He slept through the whole thing, the jerk.
When Grendel came and ripped our arms and popped our skulls,
He slid, plain drunk, right under the roast pig, and snored.

I want his saga privileges revoked. I won’t
Put up with crap like this. Last time we slew a drake,
He tripped. What sort of hero trips on dragon tails?

He makes us all look bad. So yank him from the books.
Declare him warg, or extirpate him from the band.
We’ve got our quest to finish; he just holds us back.”

Poor Wulfric, all Valhalla will not sing his name.

But grandkids might.

  3 Responses to “The Sunday Poem: Why Wulfric Lived to 90”

  1. Possibly the original Leroy? “Wuuulfriiiic!”

  2. LOL, Wolfric is the base for my family name. I feel special(?)

  3. I like the subject. But… can it be reworked so it alliterates?

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