‘Nother tale of an old knight
overcome by a risin’ son.
 
Old eyes fare but the morning glare 
blinds heroes while they’re still young.
 
And so another conqueror
misread a time-worn futile plan.
 
Made a miniature of himself,
but in the process failed to make a man.
 
For the man it was all about pride,
but for the lad a way to hide as others sighed.
 
“Shame the boy’s not like him,
but even the man never really fitted in.”
 
Rulers fiddle, Kingdoms burn,
and as prophets fail, a real man dies.
 
Sometimes such darkness
comes before a son’s normal rise.
 
But by the dawn the knight is gone
and a new man’s born to a middle age.
 
Thus the son overcame the knight
but for a mere half-life, just to burn with rage,
 
for the man tried to slay his own fears,
but all he killed were the lad’s best years.
 
And still he hears,
“Shame the boy’s not like him.”