Swift of fist and fleet of foot
Diving into fray
Knows the monk of chosen prey

Unto the foe to strike at the root
Caring to strike down
Pummeling fiends with nary a frown

Usual fare is to strike the chin
Crushing askew teeth
Pulsing veins bleed free beneath

Sending them sprawing is due cause to win
When monk is at fight
Knowing the next move is cause of such fright

Arcing the leg right up to the sky
X marks the spot, fool
Kicking down here can make them quite drool

Bent back over knee is this poor man why?
Because next comes CRACK!
To end the fight with a snap of the back

Penned by my hand on the 9th of Mayan, in the year 794 AF.