The golden knight bereft of height
sat sullen in the glade
in contemplation of his plight
and choices that he'd made.
And watched the light shine on the shrike
they'd Etched upon his blade,
and traced the wings spread wide in flight,
and found he was afraid.
What goods a knight so short and slight,
no taller than a waif,
whose nickname now was Sprite or Mite
or even Sir Cupcake.
In fact his " friends" were not polite
and often called him names.
To push, incite, or start a fight,
and seek to bring him shame.
He sat till twilight, then full night,
and pondered if he's wrong.
To choose the dream of shining knight
instead of pollywog.
While high above the owl, alight,
now came to rest his wings.
With wisdom of both wrongs and rights
and many other things.
The man below seemed quite contrite
and simply downright sad,
and surely struggled with some strife
if any ever had.
The stars and moon both cast their light
upon the somber man
and up above a keener sight
felt he should lend a hand.
So down he flew through pale moonlight
to land upon a log,
and calmly spoke and to invite
the man to tell what's wrong.
And though the knight took great delight
to meet a talking owl.
He found it strange and not quite right
conversing here and now.
But soon he found he was forthright
about what had him down.
They sat and talked throughout the night
until friendship they had found.
Was then the owl brought up the shrike
they'd etched upon his blade.
A tiny bird but meant to fight
and absolutely brave.
So yes, my friend, you're short and slight
but mighty like the bird.
Your strength, your courage, and foresight--
and I mean every word...
And so my friend I say this night
as sunrise leads to day...
All hail the mighty slight Sir Shrike
If he should come your way!
Keith E. Sparks Jr.
Copyright © 2020
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