"The Big Hairy Orc" part 3

Somewhere deep in the forest,
An orc takes a seat by a tree.
He once took a chance, and tried to dance,
But it was just not meant to be.

He remembered a gorgeous pheasant,
He admired from near and away.
Who moved with a pace, of effortless grace,
In an arrogant short-sighted way.

The big hairy orc sat there sulking,
For such a fool he had been.
He stood to his feet, in a hasty retreat,
Never to come back again.

As the orc was leaving the forest,
He dared not turn his head.
With a song in his heart, he made a new start,
Looking forward to those things ahead.

Now the pheasant is not a woman,
As undoubtedly some would surmise.
I speak not of love, or of things from above,
But of thoughts that have puzzled the wise.

Orcs were not meant to dance,
And pheasants are frail at their best.
They had both lost their way, an ironic display,
In the form of a story of jest.

But the big hairy question still lingers,
For only the wise man will see.
The pheasant lies dead, its meaning unsaid,
But the big hairy orc is me.


Penned by my hand on the 20th of Letum, in the year 531 AD.