King Arthur’s Knights sat sullen eyed.
“What ails thee all?” the Monarch cried.
Said one, “It’s this round table, sire.
The lads out there can’t feel the fire.
”Quoth Guinevere, “Poor faithful knights, I’ll knit them all a pair of tights.
”Morale was saved, which proved the rule:
There is no substitute for wool.
- Theresa Sundt
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