Sitting under the cashew tree, in the dawn of the dusk, twilight booms
I stared at my grandmother's wrinkled old face, as she tells of warrior tales

It's swaying ecstasy catapults me into a realm of enthusiasm
Excitement wriggles down my spine, the man in me awakens
to stardom

The emblem of his kingdom, Supremacy
His isms, fidelity and loyalty

With fame and power he ruled, yet elegantly polite
In a teasing nonchalant nature
His deeds unmatched
His tales be told of every folklore.

Now I behold;
The wrinkled old palely face of my grandmother, for the last time
I remember the good old days,
folklore times of my grandmother and I

Tears spurt down my cheeks
I weep like a child for the past

My course is set.

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