The protagonist in my previous poem,
'Last Musings Of A Swordfighter',
was killed musing on
the function of a quillon.
His mind should have been fully on
the battle at hand.
Instead of only discovering 'quillon'
just before his last stand,
he should long have had down pat
what a quillon is for and where it's at.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem