X F Lacasse Poet Italian Sonnet

The Trials of a Knight - Apr 2

I’m called to meet a challenge, everyday:
my manner meek, my slow approach quite tame,
I timidly attack the threshold frame
that guards the gate and keeps the weak at bay.

My mind my sword, my enemy the fray
of a whirlwind day, vortex of shame,
I trepidate—I prove myself thus lame,
for conquest is beyond my make of clay.

But, urged along by necessity, I,
drawing on every store of strength available,
gathering my courage for this gory chore, 
breathe deep down and let a tremendous sigh
from my heaving breast. “This is assailable,”
I tell myself, walking through my front door.

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