Iosivich to the war has gone;
On the Pennsic field you will find him.
His groin protection he has girded on
And decorum slung behind him.
"Oh, taste my steel and die!", he cried,
As he hacks and stabs and charges;
For twenty wounded spearmen make
One hell of a juicy target!
Oh Paval fought and the Tuchux fell
'Neath his weapons bloody and fearsome.
They spy a wren on a tabard of green
And they flee in fear before him.
But do they flee for fear of death?
Or do they fear dishonour?
More likely still, I think they fear
The odor of his armour!