Mounted on his noble steed,
No taller than the tallest weed.
Prepared and ready for the plunge,
Protected from any type of grunge.
Staring down a darkened cave,
Deep inside him feeling brave.
Blood flowing straight to his head,
Making it swell and turning it red.
He doesn’t know how long he’ll last,
He’s sure he’ll make it with his class.
In he dives into this hole,
Making sure he fulfills his role.
Jumping out to catch some air,
Sweat pours and dampens his hair.
In he dives yet again,
Trying to perform like other men.
The climax now just in sight,
As he spits and spews up white.
Tired and done from all the fun,
Feeling good and not outdone.
Get your mind out of the gutter,
I speak of a Halfling whose name is Cutter.
Nobile steed a riding dog,
riding through the morning fog.
Fighting goblins in a cave,
trying to prove he is brave.
Now read this poem again my friend,
And do your best to comprehend.
The truth is not what’s in your mind,
Just natural thinking of mankind.
Nathan Bane Leccese
© All Rights Reserved 06/18/09