Nettle Picking
The enemy never sleeps.
They were ready for us when we came.
They saw us from their narrow slit windows.
They were watching from behind their murder holes,
ready to pour burning tar and quicklime.
Still we advanced.
We had our shears at the ready.
You don’t go nettle picking unarmed.
We wore a full suit of armour on a hot summer day.
Thick boots were necessary, the field was full of caltrops.
The enemy managed to surround us
and we were heavily outnumbered.
Yet, we fought valiantly.
We suffered a few casualties, but that was inevitable.
My index finger stung.
My husband’s ankle itched where the sword pierced the skin.
We won in the end, of course.
Our cause was just and our faith was strong.
Our reward was rich:
a pot of nettle soup with some cream on top.
GloPoWriMo Day 26 - an epic simile
No comments:
Post a Comment