The mild air of summer’s sun enveloped him
As he stood at arms, imagination his only ally.
Sparkles of sweat slid from his cardboard corona,
Making splits and splats upon the sandbox fortress.
Still he charged: Odin at his lips.
Spinning, thrusting in a masterful dance,
Plastic carved the air and draconic foes spilled.
With a red-crested lion hugging his lungs
He sang of victory.
Even the clouds caught the chorus.
His ardor faded with the dying light,
And his creator, grinning, stepped forth.
The world came to a sudden halt, and
The proud warrior exchanged his arms
For a shallow bowl of Mac ‘N Cheese and a warm bed.