His eyes they pierce the coming storm.
Ferocious volley, he orbits the mound.
Releasing wrath upon the slayer.
The object sought-he prays not found.
The slayers eyes like bird of prey.
His sights are gazed upon his foe.
His battle club is raised up high.
The prize he seeks he must control.
With white tipped knuckles his prey released.
Thursday, August 29, 2013