He stood before me,
Taking hold of my hand,
When the villagers around us,
Could not be bothered to take a stand.
He defended me,
With no fear or hesitance,
Obstructing the harsh slurs,
Directed at me by the peasants.
He ensured I was safe,
Guiding me to my home,
And upon entering, my mother noticed where tears not long ago laid.
She inquired of the events, settling quietly on her throne.
Taking a deep breath I said, “A young Black man came to my aid.”
I recounted my tale, without missing a beat.
At the end of my speech, my mother smiled and stood,
Gesturing for me to rise on my feet,
She finally spoke; “This man is a blessing and did you good,”
Do not cry, sweet child of mine, nor forget this day,
As this man has his own dragons to slay.
For he is a King, as brave as they come,
Suffering silently in his own Kingdom.“