The Assassin Poem

The Assassin


The tap of a boot, the swish of a cloak,
the glimpse of a shadow, assassin's revoke,
these are the traits of a murderer's incidence,
but his being here is no coincidence.

He slithers and sneaks like a snake-in-the-grass,
he comes out from hiding, but only to pass
swiftly over the guard that watches below
they never look up, so how could they know
an intruder had just gotten past their defense
and that their dark hour shall come to commence.

Scaling the wall like a spider on thread,
The assassin thinks, "They'll all soon be dead.
All it will take for me to win this fight,
is one small blade and a scream in the night."

Reaching the window, the man crawls inside.
"Hurry," he whispers, "I've no time to bide."
Approaching the bed, he unsheathes his knife
puts it on her neck and kills the king's wife.
Doing the same to him and his son,
the killer retreats. His task is done.