Strength in few numbers: A poem 

I know too well bush from thicket 

For the grandstand, I have my ticket 

I can play too on a seeming sticky wicket 

Yet, this be no time for playing cricket 

I have seen my precious pieces fall 

Yet my queen, she stands so tall 

She lets out a loud rousing call 

when we are all up against the wall 

We may only have horses seventeen 

And sixty-four soldiers in between 

Forty-eight flags and twenty-six shields can be seen 

But we fight like lions seven hundred and twenty 

And our numbers may seem too few 

But strength from a potion made of dew 

And our armies all of them outgrew 

All four thousand seventy-nine of them askew