Rivals staved off with minim... um... effort:
All quilling with plumed instruments of war,
Spilt blotted notes, not blood; orchestra fought.
Shrill Haydn's trump's concerted blast could kill;
Crotchety, Pachelbel his cannons primed;
And yet, battle could not commence until
Clash of such disparate sounds more soundly rhymed.
On strictest grounds, a battle must be pitched:
Pitch too intense, camps peg it or keep tent;
Howled war-cries bellowed below hearing, ditched,
Op's ordered orchestrations still prevent.
Now pitch-black, knight's have steeled themselves all day...
Yikes! sky's snapped tuning forks conduct clapped fray!
