At a round table sit three highly skilled knights,
Their weapons, although different, are often intertwined.
The first knight carries a heavy broad axe,
With a slow swing but extraordinarily strong.
The second knight carries a longsword,
He has a lighter swing but his reach is quite long.
The third knight carries a fencing sword,
Which has a pointy sharp end that can do no wrong.
Sometimes their hits are as high as they can go,
Other times they deal the lowest possible blow.
When the weapons clash with each other,
You can see parries, or blocks if you’d rather.
Yet no matter the striking they do among themselves,
The mighty knights are just people’s hard-working elves.
Night and day we make them fight as slaves,
As they count the time to our inescapable graves.
It’s not all that dark, black and sad, though,
Their battle brings as much lightness as there is in snow.
For when their battle keeps going on all the time,
We try to do some goodness for all the past crime.
Yet in a peculiar way the biggest crime in all of this,
Is by watching their battle, everything else we miss.