It isn’t morning still,
But the sun shines bright;
At the edge of the thirteenth.
Stands this battered knight.
Looking down upon the place,
Where he battled once,
A grassy green floor;
Spread over hundred and eight months.
Four trebuchets guard the entry,
To the crossroads of oval infinity.
A few march on this ancient land,
Saving their heads from the burning spears of Amun’s sand.
He used to walk, He used to play.
On this field here and the arenas of stone near the blue bay,
Before he lost the battle of the Preferiti claim,
And paid with peace to clear his name.
About the Author: Joshua George McPherson is the Director and founder (Finance and legal) of the NGO, The Help. You can contact him on [email protected] .
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