![[challenge entry]](/images/board_posticon_c.gif "Challenge Entry: Impossible Weapons"){kind=small}
Agincourt. Crecy. The Dandelion archer was all of teh fluffeh.
From the Impossible Weapons challenge. See all 158 entries (closed)
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Ninj,
Mon 8 Nov 2010, 15:43,
archived)
these could trigger allergies and possibly respiratory problems(not to be taken lightly)
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LS18,
Mon 8 Nov 2010, 15:45,
archived)
There is some soul of goodness in things fluffeh,
Would men observingly distil it out.
(Would men observingly distil it out.
Tribs 🦇 ↓ dn ʎɐʍ sᴉɥʇ ↓🦇,
Mon 8 Nov 2010, 15:58,
archived)
*does public- speaking voice*These golden heads, these common suns
Only less multitudinous
Than grass itself that gluts
The market of the world with green,
They shine as lovely as they're mean,
Fine as the daughters of the poor
Who go proudly in spangles of brass;
Light-headed, then headless, stalked for a salad.
Inside a week they will be seen
Stricken and old, ghosts in the field
To be picked up at the lightest breath,
With brazen tops all shrunken in
And swollen green gone withered white.
You'll say it's nature's price for beauty
That goes cheap; that being light
Is justly what makes girls grow heavy;
And that the wind, bearing their death,
Whispers the second kingdom come.
— You'll say, the fool of piety,
By resignations hanging on
Until, still justified, you drop.
But surely the thing is sorrowful,
At evening, when the light goes out
Slowly, to see those ruined spinsters,
All down the field their ghostly hair,
Dry sinners waiting in the valley
For the last word and the next life
And the liberation from the lion's mouth.
(Only less multitudinous
Than grass itself that gluts
The market of the world with green,
They shine as lovely as they're mean,
Fine as the daughters of the poor
Who go proudly in spangles of brass;
Light-headed, then headless, stalked for a salad.
Inside a week they will be seen
Stricken and old, ghosts in the field
To be picked up at the lightest breath,
With brazen tops all shrunken in
And swollen green gone withered white.
You'll say it's nature's price for beauty
That goes cheap; that being light
Is justly what makes girls grow heavy;
And that the wind, bearing their death,
Whispers the second kingdom come.
— You'll say, the fool of piety,
By resignations hanging on
Until, still justified, you drop.
But surely the thing is sorrowful,
At evening, when the light goes out
Slowly, to see those ruined spinsters,
All down the field their ghostly hair,
Dry sinners waiting in the valley
For the last word and the next life
And the liberation from the lion's mouth.
J Peasemould Gruntfuttock Alpha Mike Foxtrot,
Mon 8 Nov 2010, 16:04,
archived)
He's a dandy alright !
Valin I changed glasses while I wasn't looking,
Mon 8 Nov 2010, 16:05,
archived)
Monsieur Dan de Lyon je presume?"Well you can just flock off"
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Snappyuk gets BIGGER with free sample.,
Mon 8 Nov 2010, 22:36,
archived)