A Master's Voice

The length of leather in coat,

announces a Master's place of choice,

not Yoke.

No dare for Sir's of Dungeons or Lairs,

just respect of what was there.

A Mastery of the Oldest Art,

is what I remember from the start.

Proclaiming sound in Voice of Oral Writ,

I tend to follow no particular script.

Attune to only what I've seen,

my childhood is more than what it seems.

Men of Wares, Men of Means,

gave to me, simply everything.

Taught me right, showed me wrong,

an Education for the strong.

I was a Girl in a fight,

to survive each and every night,

Very few can delight,

in a life of such a plight.

Gratitude fills me still,

for the Men who gave from then,

a defense, a way to mend,

from the Nightmares of my begin.