Magic we find in the strangest of places
sometimes ’tis lacking in belt and in braces
and costs not a sou, but is worth more than gold
for the memories last to the time we are old.
The shyest of all find they grow to a hero
when they hear the call of the sweetheart they seek.
The poor and the humble, the lackey, the zero,
when lover’s in trouble, become less than meek.
And these battles we fight, with the heart not the head
do not rob us of life, but they feed it instead
so we nourish the flame that we carry about
and our torch is a beacon, our song is a shout.
Do not mock at the magical daze you may see
when we walk hand in hand down the street, you and me,
for what some view as weakness, makes me brave and strong,
and do you really dare cry all mankind is wrong?
It takes a certain type of gent
To know exactly when he’s spent.
A gentilhomme to bow away
From what he’ll not achieve today.
And yet, these men are viewed as weak!
Those with courage ‘nough to speak
When they have found their limit reach’d
Rather than endanger each
Unruffled colleage, they withdraw –
Gallantly – with honour – more!
And wait until they’ve quite recouped
What strength they’d spent to serve their group.
Thus sensible, they fly away
To live to fight another day.