A mountain of papier-mâché
pretended to benign Diablo.
The fiddler knew its faults
and stuck its side; it crumbled.
No more than air covered with
paper, the fiddler easily let
it down.
The molders of the mountain
came upon him with their
crossbows and took charge
of his tamebow spirit. But no,
the fiddler was slawing untook;
for it's easier to pierce paper
than cranberries covered with mesh.
