Thou brave child of Alexander the Great,
Thou who fights long battles with fate,
O’ lucky bearer of the choicest insults,
Enlightened thou be, by the foul-mouthed cult.
Ye rise early, crosst many roads,
Before thy might the villains bowed,
Ascending a wagon full of faces so vain,
Thousands to battle, hundreds will be slain.
An umbrella beest thy sword,
With closed eyes as thou climbs aboard,
Elbows be thy armour and shield,
Thy feet danceth when the hands are sealed.
Protecting the land where thee sets foot,
Forever it seems, thou will stay put,
Jostling and pushing hath no effect
Thy strong body suffers no defect.
None dareth rise up against thy might,
For if they do, you’re set to fight,
The teaching of years, the words in thy mouth,
Flying like bullets, at those vagrants uncouth.
None can attempt a feat like thee,
Hanging by a finger, avoiding that tree,
Standing up to that army, twice a day,
It ain’t that easy, to battle everyday.
A salute to the master kicker,
The uncrowned king of trains,
The soldier that bravely battles fate,
Steps out alive, injured but not slain.
About the Author: Haem Roy is a writer with Contract Advertising.
When she is not 'hanging by a finger' she dances salsa.
(Feel like writing a humour story? Go ahead. And shoot it across to me at: firstname.lastname@example.org i'll upload it here :)