The Knight
Broad shoulders,
Biceps the size of a tree trunk,
Forearms to match,
All from the swing,
Of that fourteen pound sword,
Practicing everyday,
For the battle,
With armor on,
Bright and silver,
To repel anothers blow,
Unpenatrating to the broadside of a sword,
Never expecting,
The hit from underneath the shinning armor,
But stabbed in the heart,
A far worse death,
Than a puncture of a sword,
A Woman, you once loved,
No matter how strong,
And big you are,
The pain comes,
From deep inside.
10/7
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