Unsteady Hand, by Sir Garland Penrose

Marcher, soldier, knight—all stripes

Hardly suits the archetypes

Not disciplined, hardy or leal

The worthiest foe the Spirefolk deal

A hand that makes such a fine incision

Tries to strike with no precision

Standing by—indecision

He waits for maimings, my suspicion

I watched the audience wager their hopes

And watched them watch me tie the ropes

Were it not for intervention

He’d be strung up with his “good intention”

A hand that makes such a fine incision

Tries to strike with no precision

Suffers at my blade’s collision

Suffers from a lack of vision

The hand that heals but fears to harm

Cannot follow-through the arm

A hand like that, a pithy tool

Yet still he tried and tries, the fool

A hand that makes such a fine incision

Tries to strike with no precision

Stoic, solemn, somber physician

Dueled to defeat by a musician