In his eyes the look of certainty,
What really chills is his lack of doubt,
Righteousness stalking in pricks of gray
And that smile! So unforgiving,
Distant until he knocks on your door
In a nightmare moment before dawn;
The Protector who would ride his horse
If he had a horse, but he does not,
For he is no Cromwell, after all,
Yet he is pretty darned close, I think -
A twenty-first century crusader,
Propelled by Faith to impose his will,
And firmly convinced that he is right.

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