Oh he’s mad no question.
I see those are windmills,
too big to fall
to such an elderly arm.
Yet again, I wonder
why I am out here,
instead of in my quiet hovel.
I could seek other employ.
But my beard and bottom remind me
of the time I left
the Lord of La Mancha’s side.
The Duke and Duchess
may not be serious
about letting me rule,
but at least they were fair
and I knew when to expect my beatings.
Things always fall in order
when one knows one’s place.
There’s comfort in routine.
Still I’d rather give honest madness a
chance.
The windmills have thrown up
a small gale, knocking his helm off.
Wild-haired and wide-eyed,
he calls for his lance.
I do not hesitate.
“Sí Don Quixote, here it is.”
The Lord of La Mancha
charges into the fray.
For a moment,
I thought I saw the windmills tremble.
Song Choice: I, Don Quixote
This song is part of Imaginary Gardens With Real Toad's Tuesday Platform
