There was a perfect guardian of the people, 
pure as anyone living under a steeple, 
trained from a youth who smelled of Scotch 
as a member of the city watch. 
His uncle was a brutish miller, 
but he never learned from that portal killer; 
an errant peasant in his town 
got but a bruise or broken crown, 
after all they were breaking the laws, 
and he would not hit without cause. 
Besides, it made up for those who walked free. 
It wasn't his fault that some people were wealthy, 
and that a few golden florins in his purse 
from a crooked merchant, no worse, 
and other rich men meant for jail 
certainly helped in purchasing his ale. 
Astride a hard, working horse 
doubtless taken quite legally by force, 
this man of the city watch 
wore a sword with many a nick and notch. 
Perhaps someone had taken offense 
at his clothing so dark, like a forest dense, 
at his wrinkled ebon cloak, hard-nailed boots, or spirited speech 
quick to defend mankind against a justice breach. 
After all, this honest guardsmen, why would he 
ever have even a shadow of an enemy?