I will serve you well
but please be patient with me,
take great care because I’m brittle.
Have your finest blacksmith
forge me with precision, fold and fold
until I hold an edge that slices through armor
Like a scythe through long grass,
I am purpose-built.
Then have craftsmen
pour their hearts out
ornamenting, doting on and refining me
so that I’m form meets function.
I’m impure, but that’s not to say
that I’m not worth it.
The discipline it took to make me pales in comparison
to what it takes to wield me.
Keep me polished, oiled and sharpened.
Hold me tight,
and swing lightly,
I will do the rest.
When you sleep,
keep me on the wall,
so no harm comes to me.
If you bring me with you,
keep me sheathed
unless I’m absolutely needed,
so I can’t harm a soul.
Keep me safe,
and I’ll do the same.
I’m a little rough around the edges,
but if you’re looking for a fine sword,
I will serve you well.