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Crazy Jane Talks with the Knight
(with apologies to William Butler Yeats)
by Andrew Sacks

I met a chess piece on the road
And much said he and I.
‘Your moves are weak,’ he said in pique,
‘Your ideas stale and dry;
Your vision’s dim,’ according to him,
‘What have you? One big stye?’

‘My games are lost at little cost,
I learn from each debacle,
My progress slow, but it will show
And warm your every cockle.

A player can be born to play
Filled with brilliance,
But some must plod—give me a nod—
Through their experience.’