By divine rule’s intervention I am knighted.
A sword hangs above me…tied & tightened.
And yes, with nightmares my sleep is frightened.
Tentatively I test the throne.
The sword still hangs & I am not at home in such a rich gold tone.
A sword hung by hair follows me everywhere.
So far, as it snaps & falls I’ve caught it with an air of flair.
I’ve kept each catch I’ve luckily had so far.
With every new sword I say a prayer & wish on a star.
I carry on each day; gulping at the sight of scissors
I live in hope of dull edges & for my hands kindly nurses
But as my sword collection grows, recoiling becomes second nature.
I’m not allowed helmet or a visit to the “Armored Haberdasher”.
The punny point is fear that life hangs by a hair.
But I’m a funny juggling fighter who catches things with flair.
You should come and see my collection sometime; sooner rather than later.
We never know when I’ll lose this game & be impaled during an afternooner.
L.B.Stowe 