1 August 2012
The clarion call I'm sure is Sounding,
and my love is on the hill
With nothing but a Pitchfork in hand,
Thirsty for a kill.
The Archers will draw Their bows,
the pikemen have their Weapons tall.
They'll stand against Enemy knights,
Eager for their fall.
The Lords will have their Heavy armor,
Aglow in bright sunlight,
To keep them safe for waiting lovers,
and passions in the night.
Yet...
my Man is a lowly farmer
No title to his name
No steed!
No bow!
No shield!
To help in wars cruel game.
Armed with nothing but a farming tool of rotted wood and rusty metal
And tucked safe, near a Heart so true,
This lonely lovers rose petals.
Loves Shield • Opuss № I