The martial war of Red and Blue

As fought in the name of Aquitaine

Devised to cool the fractious mood

Which led to knights, so sorely slain

Their skirmishes drew blood and ruin

In wrath and tempest, wrangling rage

They smote their angst in pointless feud

So Eleanor sought to engage

A tournament of fighting skill

A chance to prove themselves and preen

A jousting match with schemes and rules

To win a favour from the Queen

A fancy scrap of lace and cloth

Bestowed upon the winners lance

To capture such an accolade

Her champion must seize his chance

Horses hooves and battle cries

Head to head, the two compete

Mounting speed and clash of lance

At once deprives Red of his seat

Remounted, Red pulls back his mask

And tips his head in courteous yield

Her Royal Highness goads him on

To win her favour, now revealed

Its image in his battle eye

He spurs his horse to charge anew

And surges forth with war-like roar

To fell that damned, accursed Blue

Amid the stench of sweating flanks

Sir Red thrusts out with valiant force

His charger staunch, his grip is sound

And Blue is fallen, no remorse

The lady’s champion lifts his lance

With reverence, to his Queen of France!