The Warrior

The armour glinted harshly dull
In beams of setting sun,
Its polished parts sat smartly on
To shield the solid One.

He stood there rock,
A metal spur
On stones of mighty wall,
Beyond of that came ever high
The flags of City Hall.

His squinted eyes were watching far,
His hand was grasping bow,
Cast arrows ramped for piercing flight
And sword –
For clashing blow.

Those craven foes…
They dared not to come to Warrier’s sight.
They shrank in holes
And damned cursed
With voices low and light.

As time drew on
Great Warrior died.
Now foes inhabit hall,
But still they walk and whisper quiet
In front of city wall.

Old dented arms
Are hanging loose
Beside the stringless bow.
It’s said,
They glint in dusty beams
When sun is kneeling low.