In which our bard, while attempting to find a way out of a maze-like forest with his companion Sir Bastien Gudo, dejectedly complains about the difficulty of the quest they have been given by the witch Wyndynduffa, and the lack of attending clues thereof.
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The path of the quested is oft filled with danger -
toe-eating wormbats and beasts even stranger;
puzzles, conundrums or some quizzical door
that goes round and round, then round even more!
Such perils we've faced and sometimes surmounted,
we've laid down our cards where kingdoms have counted,
crusaded through wars, some days with no shower,
but now we've to seek out some damnèd blue flower??
To where did it go when it left its pink cousin?
Do we search the next field or plough the next dozen?
Shall we seek out a sage, do we question the wind,
can we bribe a wise ant with some sweet tamarind?
For the love of my lyre we need some direction!
Now what were those clues, let's make a connection.
Though niggling and few and from a harridan warted,
We must discover their meaning or anon are we thwarted.
Where folk do not eat with forks or with plates -
Jungled Oothkoom, or thy mother's where traits
like manners at tables find no obvious favours
over sleeping in stables and dung-heaping labours?
Did she call it Magnolia, or was it really Mangolia?
Is that not also the name of the Enchanted Gondolier
Who ferries a skiff down the old River Rant
To the land of Montegne where dogs do not pant?
Oh, my prized feathered cap for a good almanac
We're wandering through woods, our brains all awrack.
My body feels like a skinny bone flute
Vigour sucked out, Will following suit...
Oh, look at the sun, all ghastly and red
Just like it was in our Quest for the Bread,
when the wizard Ravgan raised ghouls without cease
who stole the King's yeast and fed it to geese.
Such ill-boding sights are surely a sign
Let's find us a tavern and drink all its wine.
This so-called quest in which we are mired,
Thinking 'pon it has made me so tired...
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Currently playing "In Nomine" by Richard Alwood.