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They do itch and they do burn.
For free air they surely yearn.
But of freedom they'll not yet learn.
Half a tournament gone.
They do hurt and they do ache.
In tight shoes in heat they bake.
In their sweat they swim the lake.
Wrestling goes on and on.
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A smooth surface.
It's so warm.
Quivers under my touch.
Returns my embrace.
A love so sweet.
Who needs sight.
My heart sees her.
Who needs sound.
Her song calls me.
Who needs smell.
Her aroma entraps me.
Who needs taste.
Her sugar's so sweet.
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Maybe the answer is in the very light reflected off our blades. Maybe that's what it means to be this creature known as samurai.
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