At dawn one early summer's morn,
As ruby sun the sky adorned,
Upon a mountaintop stood
Mithra contemplating war
And with the sleepy world rousing,
Just home from his night’s carousing,
Garl Glittergold did spy him and
Said “Golly, what a bore!”
He bade the soldiers' god good day,
And with a grin did cheerfully say,
“’Tis clearly much too nice a morn
For such a morbid chore!”
“Come with me and we'll pass the time
Instead in song and dance and rhyme!
We’ll swap riddles and jokes sublime
Until our sides are sore!”
But Mithra would not be deterred
And found the notion quite absurd!
He glared at Garl, most quite annoyed,
With unprovoked rancor
“Your proposal, sir, is frivolous,”
He said with an indignant hiss
“Depart before I lose my temper
And give you what for!”
Without a word, Garl Glittergold
Courteously bowed, and as was told
He left Mithra to brood anew
And troubled him no more
(Or so thought the God of War!)
For, with a twinkle in his eye
Garl waited ‘til the sun was high
And the all other gods beheld
Mithra's most dismal trance
Then creeping up most sneakily
Behind Mithra, where all could see
He grabbed two handfuls of chainmail
And yanked down Mithra’s pants!
Much laughter boomed from far and wide
As gods, both good and evil, cried
“Why, Mithra's favored weapon is
Sized smaller than an ant's!"
As Mithra’s rage this did provoke
Glittergold grinned and gently spoke,
“Relax, my friend, it’s just a joke!
Your good humor's too scant!”
Mithra’s fury did not abate
For his disgrace was far too great
And quivering with rage he fixed
Garl with a furious glance
“You’ve robbed me of my honor, cur
I thus demand recompense, sir
I challenge you to duel at noon
Your death shall my name enhance.”
Glittergold, far too quick, agreed
And with a grin said “I accede,
Provided that you let me choose
The weapon, by perchance.”
(Then he did a little dance!)
As the appointed time did near,
Gods, all alignments, did appear
On the field of battle thinking
That Garl’s death was nigh
As second, Mithra chose Hanseath,
The Bearded One from lands beneath
Aasterinian would serve as Garl’s,
A prankster, just as sly
Mithra strode out onto the field
Most confident that Garl would yield
Glittergold was all smiles despite
The likelihood he’d die
They hailed each other and shook hands
As proper decorum demands
Glittergold wished Mithra “Good luck!
I warn you, I’m quite spry!”
Noon struck and they took their places
Turned and walked out twenty paces
Were handed weapons Garl had chose
From their seconds nearby
Hanseath, at least, had the good grace
To make an apologetic face
As into Mithra’s armored glove
He placed the first cream pie
With disbelief did Mithra stare
Down at the pastry lying there
Turned to protest Glittergold’s choice
And caught one in the eye
(His face smothered with pie!)
“Huzzah, that’s one!” Glittergold cheered
As Hanseath licked cream from his beard
“I hope you’re keeping track, you two
‘Cause, so far, you’re behind!”
Mithra wiped the cream from his eyes
And quite enraged, he hurled his pie
With deadly accuracy and aim
Which struck Glittergold blind
“Well done,” Garl said, “my noble foe!
You’ve struck a most delicious blow!
Now gird thyself as I reply!”
His next pie, he did unwind
And so they took turns, striking-struck
And somehow, through amazing luck
Garl matched the war-god blow-for-blow
As though stars had been aligned
For several days, as time is gauged
The epic divine battle raged
Till combatants and spectators all
In pie-cream were enshrined
And Mithra, in the light of this,
Divine display ridiculous
Was awed to find his martial heart
With mirth was most entwined
Then Mithra did what none had seen
Before, after, nor in-between
With booming laugh, he raised one hand
And from the fray resigned!
(In a manner most refined!)
“My friend, it’s clear you’ve won the day,”
With a salute, Mithra did say
“To your unrivalled skill with pies
Concedes this god of war.”
“Thank goodness,” Garl said, with a wink
“I had really begun to think
We’d never get the chance to stop
I had begun to bore!”
“Besides,” he added, with a grin
“I think it’s plain we both should win
For I’m as cream-covered as you
Getting clean shall be a chore.”
“Unfortunately, there’s no time
We’ve still got song and dance and rhyme
Riddles to swap, and jokes sublime,
Until our sides are sore.”
Garl’s suggestion Mithra inferred
And found the notion quite absurd
He grinned at Garl, most overjoyed,
And said “That, I would adore.”
The two of them walked off, just then
The gods of tricks and fighting men
To share in all the frivolous things
That sunny days are for
And so it is one day each year
That ire and conflict disappear
So each soldier may celebrate
A holiday from war
(‘Til war is nevermore!)