I fought in a Circle like an Awesome

Martial Artist. All around Enemies,

Hostile jealousies, Ruthless onlookers.

Not seeing a way around this Miasma,

what one of the Generals called a Morass
in plural formation…I brandished Sword,

Commands, strategies, and paid Proper

Dues, burning the Fat to the Deities
we are informed best know and best allow

for succor, success, and days of long Feast.

With a maiden so Treated, the Rewards
Which might gave to Will passed on to WINNING

a prize of solemn lyrical access

for wonders of poetic science.