Year 4


[Year #4]
– Autumn of the Fallen Oak
– Winter of the Frosted Leaf
– Spring of the Mad Hedgehog
– Summer of the Late Moon

A Collection of Winning Song Contest Entries

Autumn of the Fallen Oak

November 28th, 1999

First Place

The Warrior’s Return
By Hon Rosie

Down the path the warrior trod
heading home was he.
A light mist fell upon his head
soon he would see she.
A smile passed his rugged face
a happy smile, aye.
He could only imagine the look
he would see in her eye.
Reaching the Abbey he stopped and stared
glad to be back once more.
Raising a paw, he knocked twice
upon the tall wooden door.
The Abbey door creaked open
and in the warrior stepped.
When suddenly, from behind a mole
a pretty young mousemaid lept.
He laughed as he was nearly tackled
and hugged her just the same.
A happy tear ran down her face,
as she spoke his name.
How worried she was, she scolded him
and how went the battle?
Reassuring her, he replied
that no vermin were left to tattle!
Paw in paw they went down to
the feast in Cavern Hole.
Where all creatures, old and young
wanted the story told.
With a wink the warrior agreed
and the tale took quite a bit
Though I admit, that even he
exaggerated some of it.
The pretty mousemaid scolded him
with a gentle chide
Yet taken aback was she when he
asked her to be his bride.
And now this song shall close my friends
as you already know the rest.
The two lived happily forevermore
with naught but love in their chest.

Used with permission.

Winter of the Frosted Leaf

February 13th, 2000

First Place

Always Remember
By Clearspring

Always remember
Those who have gone before
And carved their own path
Through the masses of creatures
Who take the well-worn road
Always remember
That they took they ways only they saw
And lit them for others to see
That they tripped into the unknown
So that those who followed wouldn’t fall and skin their knees
Always remember
Warriors and warriormaids who saved us all
By facing their fears
And giving their minds, souls, bodies, lives
So that others may live to explore new paths
Always remember
Those who were lost
Before they could even think about a path
Lost on the paths of creatures who were reckless
Or apathetic to those who would follow
Always remember
That a creature is a creature
And that the strongest of the creatures have taught others
Not to follow the paths they themselves carved,
But to follow the path that suits them best
Always remember
That if your path is not there
You can carve your own.
Always remember.

Used with permission

Spring of the Mad Hedgehog

May 28th, 2000

First Place

Troubadour Tripso’s Tale
By Ivy Ramble

Tripso was a handsome hare, young and bold and strong,
Who’d always dreamt of telling tales and singing every song.
He followed every minstrel; he studied every bard;
To find and make his dream come true he worked so very hard.
Now, research was no problem, and knowledge Tripso had–
The only thing, though, is how he was a shy and quiet lad.
The Village Elders of his town decided who would go
To pass apprentice of their art and be a Master, so
Young Tripso went to test his skill against a judging group,
And carefully he stood before them, perching on the stoop.
As he slowly told his story, he felt their every glare
Piercing like a dagger; he felt their every stare
Gnawing as the beaver does upon a branch of wood–
Thinking this and shiv’ring so, he froze and nervously stood.
His joints locked up, his jaw clenched tight, he could not make a sound;
And judging by the judge’s face, Tripso’s failure was profound.
“A teller of tales I’ll NEVER be,” he said sadly to his feet
As he made his way out of the door, away from that defeat.
Funny he should say that then, for soon his answer came
As his best friend saw his skulking looks and said “Shame, shame!
You don’t look well, my finest friend–but I have what you need
To cheer you up,” he broadly grinned, “some toasted pumpkin seed!”
Tripso blinked and looked surprised as he received a few.
Tasting them, he felt inspired, and suddenly, he KNEW!
He knew, for some odd reason, that his salvation came:
Toasted pumpkin seeds! By Jove! It even had a name!
From that day forth that tasty treat made him quite a hare–
Troubadour Tripso roamed the land, hither, here, and there.
The secret was that, every night, he’d munch and crunch and talk;
And, the more he came to eat, the wilder his stories got.
Those seeds intoxicated him beyond his very dreams,
And his tales brought laughter from the crowd, bursting at the seams.
He loved it, though, for he could make most any beastie grin;
And that is why they all begged him to come back soon again.
Now I shall tell you one such time, when Tripso saved the day,
For it was when he came to Redwall Abbey, be it as it may.
The cooks were there to greet him with many a great big sack
Filled with toasted pumpkin seeds, of which they never lack.
That night around the campfire, the stories there were grand;
Of wackiness unparalleled throughout the whole wide land.
But as those creatures rolled about and giggled in delight
They failed to notice the band of ferrets slinking from their sight.
The Thieving Trio (as they’d been called) was creeping up behind
And arguing about what they should do and what they may just find.
As Tripso wove his crazy yarns, one ferret’s nose turned red–
The others knew he was simply trying to keep his head.
It didn’t work, for Tripso’s tales were always much too fun,
And he laughed so hard that down his cheeks tears began to run.
The other vermin tried hard, too, but ne’er the less, they failed.
And so, by raucous laughter were their dreadful efforts ailed.
The Abbey dwellers didn’t even see the thieves had sat
Right up close to the fire, where the Dibbuns were at.
Those goofy ferrets giggled and tittered like some common babes.
And nearly cackled themselves into some early graves.
For just then, someone saw the daggers on the ferrets’ belts;
Immediately the camp was filled with shrill screams and yells.
Tripso had a drunk idea–he cried above the crowd,
The Dibbuns knew this story well and grinned without a doubt
As they pounced upon the ferrets with a daring battle shout.
The Thieving Trio could not have dreamt a worser fate
Than to be mercilessly tickled by the Dibbuns in their wake.
Molebabes, squirellies, mousies, all, tackled those poor beasts–
They tickled with a vengeance, and the ferrets only squeaked
In laughter and in terror: both were intertwined
As the Dibbuns waggled their itchy paws and, most unkind,
Tickled those offenders; they were lucky to escape!
The Thieving Trio ran away, still laughing, eyes agape,
And those vile, tortured vermin were ne’er seen or heard again.
Troubadour Tripso’s tales ARE heroic, now and then!

Used with permission

Second Place

There Was a Hare Wot Ate a Lot
By Clearspring

There was a hare wot ate a lot
As all hares tend to do
From cakes and pies
To Elderb’ry wine
He ate the whole day through
The other hares all laughed at him
Because he got quite round
His jerkin strained
To keep’m contained
But still he was larder-bound
One day the sentry raised the flag
The enemy was in sight
Advancing fast
The die was cast
The hares would have to fight
Our friend the tubby hare looked down
As vermin scaled the mountain
As the battlecries
Rang through the skies
The death toll kept on mounting
“We cannot hold them off for long!”
The gen’ral said, concerned.
“If they get in,
We cannot win.
The tide, it must be turned!”
The hare wot loved to eat stood tall
As he spoke bravely up,
“Push me out.
I’ll win this bout,
And be back home for sup!”
And so they pushed the plump hare out
He rolled fast down the hill
The vermin jumped
As he bounced and bumped
It gave him quite a thrill
At breakneck speed he tumbled town
Knocking vermin left and right
The hares all cheered
The rats disappeared
They ran ’til they were out of sight
The hare wot liked to eat a lot
Was really very dizzy
They gave him wine
And bid him dine
But he was in a tizzy
The poor hare couldn’t eat for days;
His head was spinnin’ round
But when it ceased
He had to feast
And ate them to the ground!
There was a hare wot ate a lot
As all hares tend to do
From cakes and pies
To Elderb’ry wine
He ate the whole day through
The other hares once laughed at him
Because he got quite round
But now they cheer
And have no fear
‘Cause Roly-Poly Hare is around!

Used with permission

Summer of the Late Moon

September 24th, 2000

First Place

Abbey Song
By Treerose

“I wander far, I tread the land-
(A well-worn phrase, I understand,
I cannot start my song unless
I use such words, I do confess.
Yet listen, please; my untaught rhyme,
Will seek to laud a place sublime.)
I’ve journeyed longer ways than most,
And looked on sights to make one boast:
I’ve sailed the seas in times of yore,
I’ve roamed along the northern shore,
I’ve seen the windswept meadow grass,
And icy moutain slopes like glass.
I’ve dwelt in verdant forests where
The sunlight gilds the leaves and air,
I’ve safely crossed the murky fens,
And lingered in the bosky glens-
(Forgive my rambling- old sages will,
Their tales with reminisces fill.)
But there was one thing I never saw,
The famous Abbey of Redwall,
I’d heard its legends all my days,
At last I had to see this place,
I left the sparkling forest lands,
And traveled to where the Abbey stands.
Those Abbeybeasts lived up to fame,
And hailed me kindly when I came.
My wand’ring life I soon forsook,
One Nameday feast was all it took-
With a pastry clasped in either paw,
I vowed I’d never leave Redwall.
I’ve talked quite long, I pardon ask,
(This truly was a hardwrought task,)
I only hope I’ve proved just this-
Despite the lure of traveling bliss,
I’ve never thought to leave and roam,
For here’s my dwelling; I’ve come home.

Used with permission