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DON QUI-HILLARY

Don Qui-Hillary,
You’ve had a nice run.
It’s quite chill-ery,
This flight to the sun.

Even Icarus
Would doubt your mad quest.
“She’s not one of us,”
“Says Robin Redbreast.

“Weighed down with armor,
“She’d ne’er leave the ground.
“She’s quite the charmer;
“Alas, not too sound.”

Now, this metaphor
Begins to digress.
It is quite a bore—
This need to impress.

Let’s go back again
To Hill on her horse.
Just what’s in that brain?
What brings out such force?

With her lance in hand,
Consumed by the drill,
She plans her last stand.
The windmill is still.

Don Qui-Hillary,
Why, yet, do you roam?
There’s no wind today.
Why don’t you go home?