The Fearless Helm

by Hoegard Harfoot
June 10, 2010

There fearless sits a helm upon my head
If but for its efforts I might be dead
So many foes do instill a mortal dread
Shadow's servants attack without words said
Before the swing of my cudgel they’ve fled
My face streaked with dust and hands colored red
Those too stubborn to run away lay bled
And there sits the fearless helm on my head.