She must have known she wouldn’t get too far,
that we’d see through her promises of peace.
We’re taught that those who start out with a Star
are taught that all we Poundies must decease.
The ring of shouters aims to turn her back.
They’ve frustrated her plan, whate’er it be.
Without provoking, they won’t just attack,
but that’s the best solution I can see.
What’s needed here is someone to step forth:
a carrier who’s brave enough to face
the villainous intruder from the North.
That someone shall be I; that is my space.
It once was I, retreating from a fight.
It has been mine to feel the cruel sting
of epithets and whispers out of sight.
It now is I, descending to the ring.
©2010 Louis A. Merrimac
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