Post by Lookout! Boxing on Nov 28, 2022 19:51:58 GMT -6
Nicola Cavanis versus Diletta Leotta
(Words: Revolution Boxing / Results: Lookout!)
In tournament of days of yore
Nicola stood: her swimsuit wore -
The bra of heaven's blue and star
Upon white shorts no stain had marred.
Her taunt and challenge Nicola cried
In that ring: 'Come, open wide.
Thou born of Italy most poor!
Come forth and hide there nevermore!
Come forth if you doth get my gist,
And prove thy worth with strength and fist!
Thy country only won the war
By changing sides like spinning door.
Come face me in leather and lace!
I wait for thee. Come! Show thy face!'
Leotta came. For the first time
Against Nicola dared to climb
From southern lands of heat profound,
The cheering of the crowd a sound
Of rumbling earthquakes underground.
Black-clad and pristine and crowned
She issued forth; red gloves did wield,
Bikini like dark heaven’s field
With presence like a thundercloud;
And o'er the German girl it bowed,
As opening jab Diletta hurled:
Like greatest ram in all the world,
Grond! Into Nicola rumbled
Like the thunder, and it crumbled
Her confidence; her defense parted,
In her eyes a fire darted.
Nicola like a shooting light
Of heaven’s star and cloud white,
Fast forward sprang, and arm back drew
To beat Diletta black and blue,
With power great and deadly skill.
Leotta better write her will!
For seven rounds against her foe,
seven mighty cries of woe
rang in the Alps, and her flesh quook,
and Italy’s champion shook.
Yet tidings grim at end were told
As in those ancient wars of old.
Thrice was Nicola with great blows
To her back beaten, thrice he rose
Again and stood against the power
That against her strove and glower’d.
Her bloody face and swollen eye
Held resolve that never could die
Till all the earth was burst and rent
in pits about her. She was spent.
The spirit although may be willing,
It cannot stop the flesh from failing
So thus she fell, unconquered yet;
one last desperate jab she gave,
To mayhaps fall that “southron knave”,
Into her face, and black the blood
Came gushing from her nose in flood.
Diletta fell back from that stroke
In pain; but Nicola she broke,
and would have knocked out cold and thrown
Down to the mat. But in the sky
Came a hand waving from on high.
The referee had inward swooped
With one arm held Nicola, stooped,
and other arm Diletta raised.
Nicola saw through a swollen haze
The TKO in round of eight
And sagged in great, despairing weight.
Her resolve burnt and gone away,
The world became all dim and gray;
She slumped and fell upon the ground
Into unconsciousness profound
And was removed by medics’ might
On a stretcher clean and white
As though a fallen Viking dead
Heading to high and holy tomb,
After in battle met her doom.
Though ‘Letta came to know and fear
Nicola’s strength and resolve clear,
and greater knowledge she did gain;
Yet still she had no regal reign
Seeking to sit the sandy throne
Made of pebbles and ground-up stone,
slow building there her vast design
O’er all in queendom to confine.
(Words: Revolution Boxing / Results: Lookout!)
In tournament of days of yore
Nicola stood: her swimsuit wore -
The bra of heaven's blue and star
Upon white shorts no stain had marred.
Her taunt and challenge Nicola cried
In that ring: 'Come, open wide.
Thou born of Italy most poor!
Come forth and hide there nevermore!
Come forth if you doth get my gist,
And prove thy worth with strength and fist!
Thy country only won the war
By changing sides like spinning door.
Come face me in leather and lace!
I wait for thee. Come! Show thy face!'
Leotta came. For the first time
Against Nicola dared to climb
From southern lands of heat profound,
The cheering of the crowd a sound
Of rumbling earthquakes underground.
Black-clad and pristine and crowned
She issued forth; red gloves did wield,
Bikini like dark heaven’s field
With presence like a thundercloud;
And o'er the German girl it bowed,
As opening jab Diletta hurled:
Like greatest ram in all the world,
Grond! Into Nicola rumbled
Like the thunder, and it crumbled
Her confidence; her defense parted,
In her eyes a fire darted.
Nicola like a shooting light
Of heaven’s star and cloud white,
Fast forward sprang, and arm back drew
To beat Diletta black and blue,
With power great and deadly skill.
Leotta better write her will!
For seven rounds against her foe,
seven mighty cries of woe
rang in the Alps, and her flesh quook,
and Italy’s champion shook.
Yet tidings grim at end were told
As in those ancient wars of old.
Thrice was Nicola with great blows
To her back beaten, thrice he rose
Again and stood against the power
That against her strove and glower’d.
Her bloody face and swollen eye
Held resolve that never could die
Till all the earth was burst and rent
in pits about her. She was spent.
The spirit although may be willing,
It cannot stop the flesh from failing
So thus she fell, unconquered yet;
one last desperate jab she gave,
To mayhaps fall that “southron knave”,
Into her face, and black the blood
Came gushing from her nose in flood.
Diletta fell back from that stroke
In pain; but Nicola she broke,
and would have knocked out cold and thrown
Down to the mat. But in the sky
Came a hand waving from on high.
The referee had inward swooped
With one arm held Nicola, stooped,
and other arm Diletta raised.
Nicola saw through a swollen haze
The TKO in round of eight
And sagged in great, despairing weight.
Her resolve burnt and gone away,
The world became all dim and gray;
She slumped and fell upon the ground
Into unconsciousness profound
And was removed by medics’ might
On a stretcher clean and white
As though a fallen Viking dead
Heading to high and holy tomb,
After in battle met her doom.
Though ‘Letta came to know and fear
Nicola’s strength and resolve clear,
and greater knowledge she did gain;
Yet still she had no regal reign
Seeking to sit the sandy throne
Made of pebbles and ground-up stone,
slow building there her vast design
O’er all in queendom to confine.