The Warrior Fool Poem by Bob and Alex Eichen

A warrior sat on a mountain of skulls,
after a bloody great war.
He looked all around for someone to kill,
his body was battered and sore.
He saw one foe left, as war torn as he,
perched on a vast pile of arms.
'I cut off their arms, ' the warrior said,
'For then they can do me no harm.'
'Your pile is bigger than mine, ' said the first,
'But none of my foes will return.
For when off comes a head, it leaves warriors dead.
This you should, certainly, learn.'
They met between mountains of skulls and of arms,
on a battlefield of gore.
The last two warriors, to fight to the death
to end this great pyrhic war.
'When I disarm a foe, ' the second replied,
'I know he is done for the day.
And if he recovers and comes looking for me,
tis easy to make the fool pay.
But what do you do, when the warriors you slew,
come back at you without any head?
How do you slay, a warrior that may,
return for you after he's dead?
Why there's one behind you, a headless corpse,
coming to give you the most! '
The first he turned white as he turned to face, the headless warrior ghost.
But as he turned round, his enemy thus,
chopped both his arms to the ground.
The first he turned back, it was then that he learned,
Never, oh never, turn round!
But his enemy said, 'Perhaps, you are right.
I don't wish to leave you this way!
So he cut off his head and the warrior bled,
till at last his fool ghost flew away!
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