The Battle of the Morn (Poem)

As promised, here's some of my terrible poetry:

The Battle of the Morn

by Anders Benson

At the appointed hour, a spiteful cry doth sound
As man and monster take afield to begin another round
The man with flailing fist doth aim to strike his enemy down
He lands a mighty blow upon its battered head
The screaming beast recoils, stunned, but far from dead

Now our hero rests, for blissful minutes nine
Until the foe returneth backed by morning's shine
In waxing rays they bray and battle, their war as old as time
The stalwart red-eyed beast, its detested duty clear;
The drowsy man defending the solace he holds dear

Again, again, once more again, they circle, feint, and jab!
Here a raucous squawk, there a wild stab!
In vainest hope the man doth try more precious sleep to grab
Alas that dream will always lie just beyond his grasp
For the beast's attack is to the ear like the venom of an asp

With plaint and growl the man, vanquished and at bay,
Concedes the battle to the beast and greets the dawning day
But first he makes a token strike, as he'll not forsake the fray
With joints a-creaking doth he rise to see his business through
The alarm clock bides in patience 'til the fight begins anew