Last Stand Poem by Brendon Secrist
Last Stand
I cry out for help,
And draw my sword.
We are surrounded,
And beaten to the floor.
My sword in hand,
I rise again.
To make a stnad,
And try to win.
I kill them all,
With deadly skill.
I take your hand,
And pick you up.
Hold you close,
And warm you up.
I mend your wounds,
With gentle care.
I've never looked,
Upon one so fair.
Oh, what I'd kill,
To see you bare.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
7/30/2025 10:11:13 PM # 1.0.0
maybe this comment is better one set on a more private message place...