Sword riding safely in his sheath,
Chainmail securely fastened on his body,
He peers over my shoulder,
As I sit at the keyboard
Or put pen to paper.
Will he be kind to me today?
Will the words flow freely?
Or will every word be a struggle?
A two handed sword too heavy
For my weak arms to lift.
Will my villains be slain
By his skilled bladework?
Or will I be unable to write a word?
Some days he is kind.
A chivalrous knight from tales of old.
Sometimes he fights me,
The black knight that everyone boos,
But always he is mine.