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Printed from https://shop.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/965497-Slave
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by Tagra Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #965497
in medieval times, a boy excapes being a slave.
Slave

I’d like to tell you what I know,
It was far away and long ago.
The clouds were a cauldron burning,
Ever onward always turning.

The boy was black with mud and dirt,
None could see his hurt.
All they did was whack him around,
Pushing the boy to the ground.

He was desperate and could not stay,
So getting up he ran away.
No longer would he sit and stare,
While people thought he wasn’t there.

The rain was pouring quite thick,
So the boy got a stick.
And no muddy moor,
Could hold him down as before.

When at last the rain has stopped,
In the moist grass he flopped.
But in the distance he could see,
A maddened boar – after thee.

The wild pig snorted and charged,
The boy was under its barrage.
Holding the stick with all his might,
He decided to pup up a fight.

The boar was not really smart,
And fell upon him like a dart.
The stick pushed deep inside,
The pigs big fat hide.

The boar lay dead,
Like a lump of lead.
So the boy took out his knife,
And went for his life.

With the hide he made some armor,
Now he didn’t look like any farmer.
He marched into the nearest town,
Wearing the hide like a gown.

Years have passed from this time you see,
And the boy grew happily.
The wind whispered through the trees,
Stripping them of their autumn leaves.

Boy was now a man,
To many he was a fan.
For he was strong and did not shirk,
Any job – and he could work.

He went back to his town at home,
And none knew him- for he had grown.
Fortunately he ran away,
On in that nightmare he would have to stay.
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Printed from https://shop.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/965497-Slave