Each game of chess means there's one less Variation left to be played Each day got through means one or two Less mistakes remain to be made.
Not much is known Of early days of chess beyond a fairly vague report That fifteen hundred years ago two princes fought, Though brothers, for a Hindu throne.
Their mother cried For no one really likes their offspring fighting to the death She begged them stop the slaughter with her every breath But sure enough one brother died Sad beyond belief She told her winning son "You have caused such grief -- I can't forgive this evil thing you've done."
He tried to explain How things had really been But he tried in vain No words of his would satisfy the queen.
And so he asked the wisest men he knew The way to lessen her distress They told him he'd be pretty certain to impress By using model soldiers on A chequered board to show it was his brother's fault They thus invented chess.
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