The glittering sword in his hand
Was held higher than his head
Shone like some celestial silver blade
As through the woods he sped
Riding on his robust Arab stallion.

Fearless and full of conviction
He had won many a battle
And hearts and souls of men
Bedside stories of him were told
To children in the hope
That they would become as bold
Women died to be with him
When he had time for them.

Today he was on a warpath
He needed to settle a score
Men who did not deserve to live
Should tread on this earth no more
Immortal was he who lived in dreams
And in love and respect of the masses
Hence this silver blade would taste blood
Of the clan that scorched their lasses.

God willing, he would defeat them all
A fearless man amongst a million so small
He was born to stand deliriously tall.