The Ronin silently sits at his sanctuary,
Moving stealthily to the sound of
A flute.
Outside,
His enemies are closing in,
He readies his katana.
Alas! It is broken.
He looks around for another.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
His enemy enters, and
Slays him.
Poor Ronin,
A prisoner and a puppet
of his Shoguns.
Who cannot and never understand him,
For what he is.
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