The will of the Wisp in all its bliss wandered wildly wayward

It was sorely missed by the scrawny fist

As it whipped too fast wickedly past.

The last he heard;

Upon a mound of ground he found; the sound resounded.


It was to him like a somber hymn

As it tore the skin off his shin.

The pain remained to claim his shame;

Until composure gripped him.

He rose quite near; free from fear.

He attacked from behind only to find,

The Wisp has a mind so deeply unkind.

It spun around and lunged unsound

To make a mess of fresher flesh.

But to its demise from beyond the cries,

Determination flared.

The Wisp failed to notice

His eyes poised with focus.

This time he will not miss.