La Mancha.

Bereft of the poetry of his soul The knight took refuge in the house of death Into darkness he went with his mind crushed Wandering lust gone and with his own trust. The enchanter gone And disenchantment entered And the land of La Mancha Slowly turned to dust & cinders. Talisman of allurements or of feasts Chimeras of windmills or of fabulous beasts Golden liquors and the shining decanters Tales of poets sorcerers and of wizards Adieu to stillness and the romance Tryst and other typographical stance. His merry madness had to go And sanguine sanity had to be constructed Don Quixote had to be demolished And Alfonso had to be resurrected. Alas! there is no poetry left now In the lands of the Al Toboso And no veils of Dulcinea now accrues Across the knight of the mournful rue.