The Anachronism Tango

I ache for the sight of your sword, dear,
And to call you milady / milord, dear,
Let's dress like Celts
And wear bunny pelts
As we dance the Anachronism Tango.

May our light be a flame, not a flash, love
May the Pox never make us act rash, love
Try not to laugh
When I calligraph
As we dance the Anachronism Tango.

At your command
In armor here I stand,
My sword is in my hand -- Ouch!
Next time, I'll hold the hilt.
The fight is fierce
(To quote from Ambrose Bierce).
So long -- I gotta pierce
That guy there, in the kilt.

I think that my cloak's out of period
(I got the design from Lem's Cyberiad),
But none can assail
My dominant mail
As we dance the Anachronism Tango.

I met a Knight
When I ate at your table;
Or, a stag rampant sable
Were the arms that he bore.
And we had quite a fight
Whether it was a wagon,
Or (as he claimed) a dragon,
That he drove to the War.

We'll cook leg of lamb, not knishes,
And try to stretch out the loaves and fishes;
And then we'll draw lots
For who'll clean the pots
As we dance the Anachronism Tango.

I'll sew a seam,
And make my armor gleam,
And anything you deem
Authentic, I shall try;
I'll brew some beer,
And then some sheep I'll shear,
Because it is, my dear,
A terrific day to day to dye. (Sorry.)

So sew me a gown made of satin;
Speak English, pretending that it's Latin,
Or use "thee" and "thou,"
And "Zounds" -- with an "ou" --
As we dance the Anachronism Tango.

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