the pawns are like forwards,
attacking as if broad majority
in apprehensive order,
well, they are truly more of
cannon-fodder
the horses swing
via swastika springs
as politically impolite
old Arian knights
the castles, so isolated and stupid,
must lodge poets and/or politicians
banished on duty
the bishops move
in devious ways
the queen
under those veils
cheekily trails
all about the scene
and the king
is a poor thing,
squeezing in the corners
with his wanna-be mourners,
severely bound to have
his head severed
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