A warrior, a man of integrity and honour will bow to his enemies some see that as a weakness,
He has respect for all, as we live together, on this isolated planet far away from the stars,
His beliefs are not shared by all, some think their existence much more important than others,
What makes these men better men is it wealth or power, are they lost in righteous indignation.
The warrior asks for nothing he has simple joys and lives a life that does not effect others,
He has strength to show weakness that is real power, real courage, and bow down to ignorance,
His life is his own life and he scatters petals in the wind and enjoys them as they fly high,
They are so beautiful as they rain back to earth a pink snow storm on a brilliant spring day.
He is as tender as nature, nature can show kingcups as perfect blazing plots of living gold,
And listens to the cry of a woodpecker the harsh tunes of jay birds the dusky squawks of rooks,
Watching bees hovering into the bells of flowers, making sunshiny hums in springs happiness,
And he watches over the green fields men, women and children livening and working a landscape.
When he is called he has no fear and listens to the nightingales with their songs of sadness,
Through dark green grasses feeling the whip of the stems on his knees careful of wild flowers,
Shepherds lead their flocks to fallow fields to graze on sweeter grass they follow each other,
The warrior takes these memories with him to God knows where and as nature he can be a storm.
Copyright © Terry Trainor