A Nugget of Nudist Nonsense
There once was a knight who, to small stature born,
went out in the world wearing all could be worn.
He dressed endless layers of cotton and wool
to fit ‘neath the armor he always wore full.
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| How a man schall be armyd at his ese |
He sweat, and he stank, from such bindings, ’tis known.
He seemed to stink more than one man could, alone!
His helmet, so heavy, with visor and plumes,
did little to mask his most rancid of fumes.
Ignoring the knight as he rode ‘gainst his foes
was possible only for those with no nose!
One noon as he neared the quaint hamlet of Knude–
his head, chest and feet were quite steamed, seared, and stewed–
the Knuders, their noses assaulted and stunned,
ran into the street to the knight baked o’erdone.
“Come not to our town,” cried the Knuders united,
“you’re not welcome here without being invited!
You’re not only armed but you’re armored as well,
alerting us leagues away just by your smell.
You see, we don’t bear arms, we bare them. What’s more,
we need no clothes: nothing that’s wore or that’s tore.”
The knight, through his helmet, could barely perceive
that the Knuders wore no pant, no skirt, and no sleeve.
He lifted his visor the tiniest notch,
and spied, of that thicket, each trunk, limb, and crotch.
“No, no, no,” quoth the knight. “This should never be viewed!
How can it be true there are no clothes in Knude?
Nobody is clad? No one’s hooded or shod?
I warn you, rude Knuders, it’s notably odd.
From now on–now hear me–each person in Knude,
must henceforth be always clothed, hooded and shoed:
No nates and no navels, nor nary a nipple,
no napes and no kneecaps, not even a knuckle.
If it’s not a nose, keep it nether and tethered.
I mean it!” the noxious, nefarious knight said.
The Knuders knew not the knight’s needs, nor could guess.
They only knew Knuders know not how to dress.
But since the knight brandished his lance and his spear,
and weapons or shields were not anywhere near,
they grumbled and fumbled for old knits and knickers
while meeting the knight’s wrath with chuckles and snickers.
Patched neckerchiefs, neckties, and knotted-up nappies
were thrown in a heap ’til the knight seemed most happy.
“Now put them on, knaves!” yelled the knight with a sneer,
who, wishing to see not, turned peepers to rear.
The Knuders wrapped nappies ’round ankles and knees,
and neckties ’round nipples like ribbons ’round trees.
The knickers they slung o’er their napes and their necks,
and stretched out the neckerchiefs, nates ’round to sex.
They covered the rest with odd knits and old nettings,
and when they had done, none believed such a setting.
Intensely nostalgic, one not-naked Knuder
invented a name for the noisome intruder.
She christened him “Sir Not-a-Nose,” and it took.
“See here, Not-a-Nose,” they called, “turn ’round and look!”
Incensed, the knight spun on his heels and reviewed
the cleverly wrapped, trussed, and bound folk of Knude.
No noise did he make. All was quiet in town,
’till the knight laughed so hard he fell down to the ground.
He rolled in the street, banging hard with his fists.
He writhed on the ground in strange slithers and twists.
He gasped for air. None came. Some Knuders, quick-thinking,
pulled off the knight’s helmet and loosed his head, stinking.
“Pe-ew!” cried the bystanders, squeezing their noses.
“Quick, go fetch some water ‘ere all he exposes!”
And soon, in the sun, lay the knight newly naked,
his armor heaved off, endless layers forsakèd,
and wet as a fish, he kept gulping for air,
while meeting the Knuders’ collective cold stare.
“You see now?” they asked him. “How silly are clothes?”
“How random, restrictive, and strange, Not-a-Nose?”
The knight felt renewed–nay, reborn and refreshed!
He silenced his sputter and drew a deep breath.
“I see, indeed, Knuders, how strange and how silly,
for all of you, still, are costumed willy-nilly!
Let no one deny that I’m ‘Sir Not-a-Nose,’
the sole soul in Knude now not donning his clothes.”
The Knuders regarded each others’ stitched mixtures
and gave glad guffaws as they ripped off their strictures.
The townsfolk reveled in their common Renàissance,
with Knude games, Knude feasts, and more Knude celebrations.
Sir Not-a-Nose stayed on in Knude, as a sentry,
maintaining the Knude territory garmènt-free!
The lessons, dear list’ners, to all who are wise:
Go naked! Clothes stink. Your skin’s just the right size!
Image credit in caption.
nudescribe 