My Handsome Hero Soldier Poem by Cherie Mort

My handsome hero soldier,
A professeur by trade
A preacher of a language strange
With words and wit commands his blade

His eyes a storm on the wine-dark sea
His lips opened in a courtesy
He holds his book aloft and ope
Whilst searching round the room with hope

''Now, '' he asks, ''who can proclaim, ''
(With bated breath awaits the call)
''The hero of the story's name? ''
But not one seems to know at all

For those who came to learn were taught
And those who came by law were not
Which saddens a young soldier thus
When he remains to stand for us

He ages, back contorts in pain
Brown hair turned silvery remains
His voice, once loud, turns whisper soft,
Yet still, he holds his book aloft

''Come now, my pupils, what have you learned? ''
The professeur cries in dismay
''One cannot expect to leave this hall
Of learning with nothing to show, per se''

And though his pupils make not a peep,
And some of them attempt to sleep,
He stands his ground and grits his teeth,
For he is human underneath

Yet when the weary day is done
And all the schoolmates now depart
He slumps into his chair, alone
And utters a groan of despair from his heart

But list! for I have not told yet
What makes a soldier of this man
But this was the tale, you likely bet,
So, having lost, I start again:

So when the weary day is through
He straps into his running shoes
To train himself for a contest
In which he'll show off his prowess

He'll tumble through the course, and then
Climb o'er a wall, and to teammates lend
A hand to pull them over with
His strength and speed, tactics and grit

The soldier turns to general
And uses maps of ancient lore
Which he will use to command all
Within his group, all through the course

And with them Victory does fly,
Upon their heels crawls cold Defeat,
They will upon them take a crown
The old monarchy they'll soon unseat

''And thus, '' the ancient teacher-king,
With spirits high and eyes ablaze,
''That is the way in which we'd win,
In memory of older days.''

This soldier-king, now aged in joy
Has achieved his dream from when he was a boy,
To be looked upon in amazement and awe
By all who gather by the lion's paw

And I, I stand in the corner back
Half-hid in a curtain by the door
He sees, and smiles, and I wave back
At the one whom I deeply adore

And thus, my story does now end
With my king, and me standing by his side
We'll stand together, he and I
Until the changing of the tide