Knight of the Burnished Carapace
The sun is wont to bake him in the shell,
This creature of the hot embattled plain,
While salt seas burst their dikes to course and swell
In rivulets of sweat that fall like rain.
His arms and armor drag on flesh and bone
Until he thinks his legs must soon give 'way;
And only force of will is strength alone
To carry him to victory in the fray.
But when the tourney's o'er and court anon,
(If he be champion or contender just)
He still must ply his chamois e're he's done,
Intent on thwarting...incipient rust.
'Though single-minded warrior he must seem,
This fighting knight of Holland likes to gleam!
-- Pippin Skylark
I wrote this poem and held it awhile, until William was knighted, which happened between this Crown and Coronation.