There was a bard with bow of yew, Andrixos was his name,
To shire of Mag Mor once he rode, in search of wealth and fame,
To shoot the bull and win the prize, it was his hoped-for joy,
But he was felled by circumstance, a luckless, dumbstruck boy.
The arrows flew both thick and fast, Andrixos mid the rest,
And when the round was o'er and done, he was among the best,
There but remained a single task, his tongue to which employ,
Performance in a bardic trial was easy for this boy.
Andrixos started off full strong with Norse tales told as Greek,
But ere he'd declaimed overlong, he found it hard to speak,
A mundane lady, legs spreading, did at his feet deploy,
And soon he found things looking up, this well-distracted boy.
The moral of my tale is this; if you would shoot the bull,
Then keep your mind of all things pure, or else your senses dull,
Dwell ye not on lustfull thoughts or passion's heated fever,
Or else instead of shooting bull,, you end up shooting beaver.