There was a boy, his name was Blue
he’s born in storm and rain
But luckily, the birth took place
Aboard a private plane

From that day on this wilful tyke
That in the air did cry
Had but one goal, a single task
In 18s not to die.

A group of friends, a troupe of men
And one outstanding girl,
Offered their help and only then
In joy our Blue did whirl

His holstered guns unholstered Blue
He was armed to his teeth
A mighty warrior, his aim true
With heart of steel beneath

Once more he went into the fray
His barrels hot as hell
Because he knew that on that day
His foes he would all fell

The battle dragged and spilt was blood
Both death and pain were dealt
But in this hostile, filthy flood
Alive and strong he felt

Times seventeen they vanquished those
Who would oppose their might
And when to fight again they chose
In their hearts was no fright

They struggled long, they battled hard
And quarter none they gave
For in each soul there buzzed a shard
That made them triumph crave

One final strike, one final shot
The Machine Tyrant – Dead!
Blue felt no pain, fatigued was not
Bravely he looked ahead.

“For heaven’s sake” Chaos now cries
At others looks the grump
“All eighteen bosses he survives
To die by rocket jump!”

Very good! I feel honoured by my great deed being immortalised by poetry

Gratz Blue on surviving the 18s !

Gratz to Arcy for another beautiful creation.

I can just imagine a minstrel going from village to village to sing this amazing tale.