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In the shadows of the city's night, A secret agent is taking flight, Another mission assigned this day, But what it is, he cannot say. His superiors keep it close to chest, They say it's crucial, it's for the best, The details known to just a few, And none will give him any clue. "No details," they told him, "just follow your lead And trust that the mission is one that we need" So he set out to work, unsure of his aim But determined to succeed all the same He's trained for years, in every art, From martial skills to playing the part, Of businessman, soldier, thief, or spy, He's ready for anything, he'll comply. He moves in darkness, without a sound, His enemies never see him around, He's a ghost, a phantom, a shadowy wraith, A man with a mission, and none know his face. He lives his life on the edge of a knife, Always ready for danger and strife, He's chased by danger, and death's cold hand, His life is never what he had planned, But danger lurked at every turn, For spies like him, there's always concern, Of being caught, of secrets to learn, Of betrayal and torture, with no return. He moved in stealth, through the night, In the shadows, he was out of sight, With his wit, he avoided a fight, And slipped past guards, left and right. His name is lost to history's page, He'll never be hailed as hero or sage, For his deeds will never be made known, His actions are for the shadows alone. -Quota | |