The Thief

Two eyes ponder about the town;

Two lips show a wicked frown.

An aroma reaches his nose from the east.

'Tis the smell of gold," he says. "How sweet".

He searched for his knife, not yet unbound,

And two more bodies sailed to the ground.

After taking their sight with silence and stealth,

He stopped for a moment, eyeing his wealth.

He then approached the door of the nearest home,

Made of logs and thicket and a roof-thatched dome.

With the smell of blood, and a throat of unquenched thirst,

He opened the door, not expecting the worst.

There a man stood, the look of ancient pride.

He stood in the doorway, an axe by his side.

The thief stepped back for a hasty retreat,

Then stopped in mid-stride, not accepting defeat.

The battle was heroic, and seemed very fierce.

The thief smote the man down, his eyes filled with tears.

He looked over him carefully, not leaving him for dead,

Walked over quietly, and neatly removed his head.