The Proud Pilot

A fighter pilot of the noblest kind,
flew quite quietly in hopes to find,
the world renowned Bermuda Triangle,
(and using the correct coordinated angle)
did in fact prove its very existence,
You see, he felt it was just common sense.

He was a dignified sort of fellow,
always wore a medal golden yellow.
given to him by a worthy general,
worth more than any diamond mineral!
In a uniform, he’s rather dashing.
oh yes, the ladies thought he looked smashing.

Women weren’t impervious to his charms,
when he crash-landed near their hometown farms.
They could all but drop their mouths and gape,
At this gorgeously proud man of an ape!
He was not lustful, greedy or slothful.
He was kindly, so his wrath was doubtful.

His gravest sin of all remained his pride.
It was this sin he would never confide,
in any of his courageous comrades.
Even the most astute of these fine lads,
could ever guess this statement to be true.
They’d simply joke and say, “To hell with you!”

Naturally, when the locals heard the news,
they anxiously awaited with fermented booze,
to welcome their newest arrival there.
He was exhausted, but happy to share,
epic adventures and riveting tales.
They were bewildered at this, “Prince of Wales.”

“Please stranger, allow us to inquire
as to where you’re from and what you require.”
“I think from the future,” the stranger said,
“I’m afraid to ask, am I really dead?”
“Certainly not sir, you’re surely living.
Your good looks and charm are quite forgiving.”

“Have you need of a room?” the maiden inquired,
"No need to fret, I see you're rather tired.
Rest easy as you are among friends.
Once you wake, you shall eat of my best hens!”
“What a generous offer,” he replied.
“You are handsome, indeed,” she softly sighed.

Beautifully bathed in brownish brocade,
he’d seek the heart of this medieval maid.
For our pilot had become quite smitten,
with Canterbury’s own sex kitten.
Despite the fact he had competition,
for fair lady’s heart, he did petition

the maiden as to what she wanted most.
She whispered sweetly, “a man who doesn’t boast.
Humility is what I most admire,
For Pride results in burning hell fire.
Even though some find a man a stodgy ole’ bore,
A humble man is as noble as a lord.”

The pilot, like a downtrodden beggar,
drowned his prideful sin in the King’s kegger.
Pride,the albatross about his neck,
medieval madness, he thought, “what the heck?”
His golden medal served as company,
he did not need her endless elegies.

Like a Captain upon the stormy sea,
he flew his plane back to reality.
His time there, like the patient pilgrim’s plight,
undone by his own pride, he did take flight.
Leaving the fair maidens, nobles, and lords,
our boastful bachelor fell upon his sword.