Ballad of the Ugly Hero

A knight fine of face and eye, will sour,
When on face more than self rely,
His courage will fail, lacking in darkest hour,
Not having what the scars of ugly heroes imply,

Although Roxanne was in Christian’s power,
And old DeBergerac hated his nose,
She fell to a poet’s power,
And they live forever in prose,

And for Belle trapped in a tower,
The beast’s regret what he chose,
With feral roar made Gaston cower,
All for the stinging price of a rose,

So are you up for the task,
When a broken nose or cheek you trace,
Sheeps clothing, skin deep runs the mask,
When you divine courage in a mere face,

So let bard rhyme and heralds shout,
Of All the beauty aesthetic,
It’s the pretty one’s that pout,
And ask for anesthetic,

So gather round this table,
And drink your fill of mead,
The ugly heroes you find were able,
Although our tales you’ll never read,

For in our broken bodies and scars,
Is the vellum our tale is writ,
And our deeds are remembered by the stars,
More than some good looking twit.