In dead of night he slowly weaves
Through ginnels murky with rotting leaves
Unhurried gait becomes steady now
Then the pace increases as he cuts through town
Like a knife through butter, inebriated vagrant lying in the gutter

A mysterious figure very much alive
but it's as if a poltergeist is passing by
Every nook and cranny, wall and railing
Covering distance without even failing
to skip a beat as his destination
will soon be within reach

"Lie low, lie low” is what they said
to rich Baker who's son was tragically dead
But retribution is what the Baker sought
So with a bag of silver a solution was bought
To taste revenge so very sweet
As he retired to his bed for gainful sleep

The cowled figure continued on
in passageways dank that stank of beer
With smell of fear and stale urine
Oder fading as he slowed right down
To fix upon landmark emblazoned in mind

With Baker now in peaceful repose
Snoring ripples vibrating through his nose
Lying in deep unmoving sleep
Not hearing spiral stairway creak 
With swiftness and stealth a deadly blow
A glint of light as white as snow

The Baker's son and Assassin dead
Now the Father's turn as he lay in bed
Curved blade not felt as it made its mark 
Mission accomplished by the Scimitar
The Urban Poet 2017