My rival.
He stands barely higher than my chin
Not even within my line of sight
Yet against him I never seem to win
Even though I always fight.
How can one so short, so small
And seemingly so naïve
Be the one to bring on my fall?
The answer I can't conceive.
I fight, I try, I shed my blood
How does he do it, how does he win?
The answers are as clear as mud
My patience is growing short and thin.
I know that I must come up with a plan
To defeat his cunning strategy
And if I try I know that I can
Cut short his little reign of victory.
My rival he is short and small
Barely worthy of a glance
And yet he seems to win it all,
In this game of cards and chance.