On every plane, he stands between
The evil and the weak.
An office he was molded for
No one would ever seek.
Where others run, he stands his ground,
Fulfilling each new task,
And any fear assailing him,
He hides behind a mask.
He gathers allies to his work
When they present themselves.
It's not a charge that he can shirk,
So deeper in he delves.
The path he walks, when he's to war,
Is misted from his sight.
His steps are guided from beyond,
In faith, in every fight.
When evil blooms it's tainted flower,
With troubles running rife,
The A-nish-a-naabeg warrior
Stands as shield of limb and life.
This person's found in every tribe
And clan around the earth.
Of battles fought to spare the weak,
In truth, there is no dearth.
The battles for our world are rife,
Not always fought with swords,
And those who guard between the planes,
Deserve their just rewards.
Richard Higley © Nov. 30, 2016
