Carcassonne, a Day in Verse

Oh! Dear readers, do please accept
apologies, for I have kept
away too long, and long delayed
more stories of our escapades.1

Imagine now an ancient city,
fortified, and very pretty.
Up to the walls march our young heroes.
Unarmed with any sword or spear, so2
luckily equipped with minds astute,
we snuck in through the tourist route.

The gate was tall, the passage narrow.
We tried to shoot through like an arrow
but all around us, like molasses
were lumpy tourists on their asses.3
(Observing these most grave offenses,
we understood the strong defenses.)

Eventually, we squeezed inside,
a little flatter, with injured pride,
but Carcassonne was ours to savor,
the cassoulets in every flavor.4
There were wooden swords and wind-up toys,
small music boxes– we jumped for joy.

It was clear to us that we had found
a place unreservedly unbound
from modern, sane, historical thought
or instructing children, as it ought,5
to learn about those medieval times
when troubadours sang similar rhymes.

I leave it with you, sweet readers all,
to decide where this great city falls:
with taste, enlightenment, and learning
or in the other direction turning6
greedily to anachronism.
Verdict? Carcassonne is or isn’t?

And two bonus photos…

  1. This has left you, I’m sure, quite dismayed. []
  2. The number of weapons allowed was zero. []
  3. They invade each summer in noisy masses. []
  4. Not to mention pizza and shawarma for those a bit braver. []
  5. –and this is at least what I was taught– []
  6. Perhaps for lack of those more discerning. []

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