I’m a last-in-line warrior.
I woke up late for roll-call.
I was the last (slightly chubby) jogger to limp across the finish line.
When I arrived, my armor wasn’t hooked in the right button-slot,
And I dropped my lance with a crash which caused the real warriors to look my way and shake their heads.
The Lion of the Tribe of Judah paced by to inspect the troops, on padded, stately paws.
One majestic eyebrow rose as he passed me,
But for some reason,
He let me join the army anyway.
But I’ve been practicing my roar.