Guardian of the Sword
A sword lay weak and tired,
exhausted after a heavy battle.
The white cloak slips off and
lays wet and sticky by
it's side, formerly one, now
two, spent beyond repair.
The guardian of the a sword wipes
it down, cleans it off and lets
it rest. An hour before, the sword
was well-oiled, ready for battle,
at full attention, riding hard and
heavy into the cave, to secure
the prize - The Golden Sand.
The cave was hot, inviting, a
world of pure darkness and
little air. The soldier carried his
sword high and rode fast
into the cave, ready to fight
for the prize. A white cloak drapes
the sword, keeping it from
touching The Golden Sand, the
sword pushing to get out
constantly pushing. The battle is long,
the prize retireved, the sword exhausted.
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