My Evil Forty-Three's

"So who was it using the evil 43?"

...some anonymous Talmerian.

They're more functional than elegant
As bladed weapons go.
Any beauty is an accident
Of practicality.
Not things to stimulate the lust
Of collectors in the know,
But cheap enough to serve my needs
With brute efficiency.

Their virtue's in their length,
A mere three inches past the norm;
that I must ask permission
To use one in a fight.
Yet no one has refused
To allow me to perform
Againt them with my forty-three
Clutched in my sword hand, tight.

But oh! Those three short inches
Are as good as any mile,
When the marshall cries, "Lay On",
And it's time to come to blows.
Advantages are rare enough,
And so I have to smile
When those inches make the difference,
And my opponent knows.

Still, I must be careful
That I don't rely too much
On my blade length advantage,
For a skilled opponent will
Turn that length against me.
So it cannot be my crutch.
I still have to practice
To be master of my steel.

I'll fight you with my right hand,
Or my left, or brace of swords,
With dagger, or with buckler,
Or any style you please.
But know that when the time is past
For making rhymes of words,
I'll meet you on the field
With my evil forty-three's