I put myself to the test,
Sharpened the sword,
And rung the bell.
Prompted tomorrow
to dawn sooner
than it was willing.
But strength grows slowly.
And blades cannot be made
of that which is brittle.
And I sigh to think
of the many seasons that
have to temper me still.
Temper but gently, that a
glance from the shadows,
be silenced by the blade.
1 comment:
Good poem, I guess... poetry is deep in that it doesn't tell the full story... how do I know what I interpret is right? :)
And good @ this new comment interface... friendlier.
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