What about a Rocket Man who’s always making rockets? Oh, there’s such a lot of things to do and such a lot to be That there’s always lots of cherries on my little cherry-tree!
The Knight Whose Armour Didn’t Squeak
Of all the Knights in Appledore The wisest was Sir Thomas Tom. He multiplied as far as four, And knew what nine was taken from To make eleven. He could write A letter to another Knight. No other Knight in all the land Could do the things which he could do Not only did he understand The way to polish swords, but knew What remedy a Knight should seek Whose armour had begun to squeak. And, if he didn’t fight too much, It wasn’t that he did not care For blips and buffetings and such, But felt that it was hardly fair To risk, by frequent injuries, A brain as delicate as his. His castle (Castle Tom) was set Conveniently on a hill; And daily, when it wasn’t wet, He paced the battlements until Some smaller Knight who couldn’t swim Should reach the moat and challenge him. Or sometimes, feeling full of fight, He hurried out to scour the plain; And, seeing some approaching Knight, He either hurried home again, Or hid; and, when the foe was past, Blew a triumphant trumpet-blast. One day when good Sir Thomas Tom Was resting in a handy ditch, The noises he was hiding from, Though very much the noises which He’d always hidden from before, Seemed somehow less…. Or was it more? The trotting horse, the trumpet’s blast, The whistling sword, the armour’s squeak, These, and especially the last, Had clattered by him all the week. Was this the same, or was it not? Something was different . But what? Sir Thomas raised a cautious ear And listened as Sir Hugh went by, And suddenly he seemed to hear (Or not to hear) the reason why This stranger made a nicer sound Than other Knights who lived around. Sir Thomas watched the way he went— His rage was such he couldn’t speak, For years they’d called him down in Kent The Knight Whose Armour Didn’t Squeak! Yet here and now he looked upon Another Knight whose squeak had gone. He rushed to where his horse was tied; He spurred it to a rapid trot. The only fear he felt inside About his enemy was not “How sharp his sword?” “How stout his heart?” But “Has he got too long a start?” Sir Hugh was singing, hand on hip, When something sudden came along, And caught him a terrific blip Right in the middle of his song. “A thunderstorm!” he thought. “Of course!” And toppled gently off his horse. Then said the good Sir Thomas Tom, Dismounting with a friendly air, “Allow me to extract you from The heavy armour that you wear. At times like these the bravest Knight May find his armour much too tight.” A hundred yards or so beyond The scene of brave Sir Hugh’s defeat Sir Thomas found a useful pond, And, careful not to wet his feet, He brought the armour to the brink And flung it in…and watched it sink.
