Sunday, March 27, 2011

To the Man Who Read Me Shakespeare on Sunday Afternoons

Man in armor on his steed
Rusted, parched in need
A hero without a story
Robbed of any glory
No one's white knight anymore 
Damsel long left out the door
After all he gave it
Still not enough to save it
Yet he holds his tattered banner
Chivalry in mind and manner
A Don Quiote of his time
Head muddled with confusion
Still clinging to delusion
Dulcenea 's gone but he'll be fine
Just give him...