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Poem

A sharp, nifty sword and blade, looked as if it was carefully made
Thick, pointy, silver and shiny, brimmed to not look that tiny
Only delicate hands can not handle it good, a remark that the sword finds rude

When picked and raised to the air, the blade finds an opponent that seems quite fair
The opponent, eyes timid like a snake, made the blade feel this was a bad sake
The other swords handler showed a nasty grin, looking glum, thin and raspy

His mouth shut, resembling the appearance of a grown up mutt
His teeth not shown, otherwise bundles of leaking foam would appear, along with his disgusting sneer
The sword and blade, handled by his master, found no pleasure in making a fight, he just wanted things to go more faster

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