This is my "test flight" of a brand new form
Called the luc bat, which comes from Vietnam.
The name means “six-eight”—lines of six and eight
Syllables alternate with a complex
Rhyme scheme using each line's sixth syllable.
Yoda stands behind me.
He grunts out some silly command.
With light saber in hand
I face an ugly band of Sith.
By my count, it's the fifth
Today. I guess that myth of "two—
No more, no less" is through!
If there were just a few, I'd say
They hid the rest away
And waited. Their plan? Slay us quick—
Like a Jedi mind trick—
To shock us in the thick of war.
It's hard to underscore
How much Jedi deplore bad guys
Who outthink us, the wise
Who're taken by surprise with this
Turn of events. Such is
The plight of Yoda. His fingers
Scratch his head, his lips purse
In frustration. With his slurred speech
And says, "Ummm. Fear beneath.
New depths the Dark Side reaches. New
Pain. Cloudy is my view.
The unexpected you must face."
And now I know my place.
I lead this merry chase and I
Get no help from the guy
Who sent me here to die. I hiss
As the Sith swing and miss:
"The oars are dry with this one, boy."