I am dressed for war;

Perfect aggression is found

without hate at all.


A firm grip, a swish.

In attack and in defence;

my epee, my soul.


Like a dry salmon,

designed to bereave, or at

least score a few points.


Salute! In honour

I affix my new face and

adopt my lapse stance.


In quickness of steel

and mask of my enemy

I find my own zen.


Playtime is over;

We put up our swords and masks

and war. We shake hands.