Weary Warrior

I bravely gird myself again to do battle at morning’s first light Unsheathing my sword to take the field alone for I have no allies A warrior weary of the fight my armor dented and rusted having long ago lost its lustre I will gain no ground There will be no conquest no prize no golden crown or throne to win Victory is what it has always been since the moment of my birth Surviving another day to stand despite my many wounds my blood like claret from a broken bottle dripping in the dirt where every flower I’ve ever planted in my life has been trampled before they could bloom by the enemy rushing upon me determined to strike a blow from which I will not rise No one will tell tales of my glorious deeds long after I am dead When the day is done I’ll lay this battered body down to rest in an empty bed