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The knight charged
into the field,
his sword
whipping to the left
and to the right.
The lions' heads
were torn asunder
and fell around his feet.
He stood amongst the carnage,
panting, and grinning victoriously.
He didn't demand much
in return for his heroic deeds,
just a juice box after dinner,
and a story before bed.
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Interesting Fantasy poetry. I feel it's a little boy, playing and goes inside when his mother calls. Refreshing and clean. I enjoyed reading your work.
