The Warrior Of The Night

There was a warrior loyal and strong,                  

He was a Roman and I ain’t wrong;

He stood in the mid of night,

And dim was the moonlight.

I watched as he polished his sword,

After all, he was a Roman lord,

I watched him takeout his pilum;

And slowly he began to hum.

He strolled along the huge camp,

And lit a few bright lamps,

He picked up his golden shield;

And wandered into the lush field.

He saw a raccoon passing by,

And he let out a sigh;

He wished he could have some rest,

And stroked his roman crest.

He sat next to a fir tree,

And jingled the camp key;

He remembered the glorious arena,

And the good old days near the marina.

An eagle soared high,

And glimmered its golden eye;

It swooped magnificently down,

And landed on the warrior’s laurel crown.

The warrior took the majestic bird,

And nearby a sound was heard;

It was a slow howl,

But it sounded more of a scowl.

It was soon dawn,

And the warrior walked down the lawn;

Soon the eagle flew away,

And then came the first golden ray.

The warrior woke his troops,

And asked the chef to make soups;

He stood proudly on a log,

And thought about the upcoming fog.