The Training

In one I was wounded, brittle with fright.
In two I joined rank, for my life I would fight.

In camp, on rota, I dedicated my might.
In session, in fun, my poet-tree would delight.

In three I found me, antler, horn and bite.
Now towards the end, the reason is in sight.

​By Simon Blackler
Copyright © Simon Blackler 2021

​If you care to comment on this poem at all and the emotions that it brings up for you then please feel free to do so below.

Be Shouted A Session

Nature Connection