Full as bright as the sun were the Nine and the One, of a yellow sent straight out of heaven.
And of white was the Cue, though a most pallid hue, and of brown were the Fifteen and Seven.
Purple-cast were the Four and the Twelve, and what’s more, the Eleven and Three were bright red.
And the Eight stood alone, its despicable tone shining black as depression and dread.
The Thirteen was the ball which was orangest of all, and the Five was the same, and again,
The Six ball, it was green, just as was the Fourteen, and deep blue were the Two and the Ten.
 

The pool was flat, smooth and fuzzy so that no stray ball could be jumped or mis-turned.
And if there was a flaw, ‘twas one I never saw, for I’d swear it could not be discerned.
There were six gaping holes which served as our goals pocked into the sides and the ends.
And a diamond flank adorned every bank upon which so much lucre depends.
Bright and greenly was dyed the outstretched captive hide on which fates and round ivory were rolled,
And a dark scoring cable hung over the table, for he who would dare be so bold.
 

We convened at high noon at the club, whereon soon we were poised with our cues in our hands.
It was quite a nice stake, for the winner would take a choice pick from the losing side’s lands.
My opponent, by name, was Drommonin the Lame, known and hated for his vengeful ways.
I am called Collarí, Chieftain of Shem Hadri, or “The Meadow Within the White Haze.”
For long years our two tribes, through black warfare and bribes, had attempted to come out on top,
But our forces were tired, so at last we’d conspired to bring all of our fights to a stop.
 

So with one final duel, a great game of pool, our conflicts would all be decided.
The defeated man’s throng would swear vows and belong to the winning man, who then presided.
On the counter, a fuzzy and stout kitten was the one spectator present who watched,
I confess I had no great desire to show an acquaintance the shots that I botched.
Nowadays, I suppose that the means that we chose to decide things were somewhat absurd:
But we’d each had our thought, so we argued and fought; in the end, we agreed on a third.
 

I saluted him kindly, but found that his mind had been firmly made up not to talk.
So Drommonin my foe was uncourteous.  So?  So I seasoned my cue with the chalk.
Then the rack, it was dropped; I reached out; off it popped, and beneath it gleamed fifteen bright balls.
My foe squinted and shot, and to my surprise got in the Twelve ball off seventeen walls!
But he gaped and then griped, for he’d ended with striped, which meant I had been left with the solid,
Which he favored much more, so his game would be poor—it was strange, but on this he was stolid.
 

But it seemed that his will (if not patience and skill) were superior traits anyway.
And the game lasted hours; through what higher powers I kept myself up, I can’t say.
So at last when we came to the end of our game, just three balls had avoided the pot:
These the Two and the Nine (one was his, one was mine), and the Eight ball, and it was his shot!
So I watched him there leering, deep in my heart fearing I’d finally been overmatched—
And his shot sank the Two ball, the Eight, Nine and Cue ball—he’d won the game, lost, drawn, and scratched!
 

“You have lost!” I cried out.  “With no shadow of doubt, for you sank the Forbidden White Ball!”
“I have won!” he declared, as his blazing eyes stared, “for the Cue went in last of them all!”
On the counter, the kit did not tell us what it thought the duel’s result ought to be.
And since no one else came to decide on the same, it was left up to him and to me.
But to find an accord between chieftain and lord was impossible—that much was clear.
On one thing we agreed: that because of this need, we should both have had someone else here!
 

So I screwed up my mind to go forth and to find a inhabitant who lived nearby,
And to order him to decide for us both who was the victor of our game, and why.
In a rain-weary shack, working hard in the back, we eventually nosed out the same.
In a verbiose glut, we described to him what had occurred to dishevel our game.
So he told to us all that he knew, and the call that he gave left us gaping in awe!
For the locals were fools, but we played by their rules, and that meant that the game was a draw!
 

“It is drawn?” we exclaimed.  “But the losing man claimed all the lands of the other man’s rule!”
“Then you’ll each take the other’s and live as two brothers forever,” explained the old fool.
When he left us at last, all agape and aghast, we resolved we had no other choice.
We agreed we would cease all our warfare for peace, though it gave us no cause to rejoice.
So the years drifted by, and in time the Great Tie was ovated in ballads and rhymes,
Now the troubadors sing how not chieftain nor king, but the balls brought in prosperous times:
 

Full as bright as the sun were the Nine and the One, of a yellow sent straight out of heaven.
And of white was the Cue, though a most pallid hue, and of brown were the Fifteen and Seven.
Purple-cast were the Four and the Twelve, and what’s more, the Eleven and Three were bright red.
And the Eight stood alone, its despicable tone shining black as depression and dread.
The Thirteen was the ball which was orangest of all, and the Five was the same, and again,
The Six ball, it was green, just as was the Fourteen, and deep blue were the Two and the Ten.

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