- By Omri Shabath
Alone she fords the alley in her path;
A man there lurking, armed with urge and wrath.
He lewdly lunges, her virtue is his game;
I swoop in, smack his will, and save the dame.
The frigid night benumbs the streets with snow;
A lass is lost, she knows not where to go.
A gale removes her hat, she just might freeze;
But her I rescue, ere the flakes her seize.
The multi-headed hound confines the girl
Whose lauded grace the hearts of knights does whirl.
On mounds of skulls I stomp to reach her cry,
Behead the mutt, then hand-in-hand we fly.
Awake, I shred the yarns that Id had spun;
It’s me who needs your feats, my Lady Sun.