Standing just at one foot tall,
Guarding keeps and castle walls,
The tribe of which the moat is hold,
Are littles like the garden gnome.
With spears in hand, align in rows,
Await to stab intruders toes.
These tiny brave, soldiered men,
As old as which what they defend,
The wars have gone a battle ghost,
But still the braves defend their post.
Their joints they’ve seized and turned t’ stone,
Til a day may come to fight for home.
This is my B poem for the A to Z challenge.
My A-Z is based on Northumberland, and the myths and monsters that lurk within.
The idea of The Braves came to me when I was writing The Untold Stories of Scotland and it never came to anything until now. The idea is a small army so old they have turned to stone, or gnomes. We have alot of castles up in Northumberland, and even more Braves.
My poems kind of lead onto one another so I do suggest you read the poem before it to get the gist.