Rusted Armor

A Poem by MoriartyMesa

When a dragon is slayed, and the giants and ogres have fallen from his hand. His mount may steady it's leg's as the man in his rusted armor climbs to the saddle, bones and muscles creaking like a tired and used ship sets sail.

His sword is slightly dull and his mace looks as it was clean when the Empress Maud drew her last breath. He rides forth to a kiss he shall never claim, death. His servant rides as long as the snow white whiskers and bread shall allow. Minding his master and ever watchful for vicious amusement.

Soon the steady pace shall meet unto a near race, as the rusted and warn soldier, meets the feat.

'shall the ole master fall?'

'no, he will win, and ride'

'no rest for the faithful'

'no rest at all, at all'