"The Anachronism Tango"
                   by Coemgen of Michelwald
  
           I ache for the touch 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 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.