Steel left to cinders
Through endless battle it wore
Its edges frayed and its surface dark
Yet still it waits
Through simmering flames
Its form never to break

Fresh iron made with haste
Its flashing spectacle
Matched only by its fragility
As it clatters
Young blood spatters
While the ashen blade remains

Dark edges sharp and hot
Wise old form
Welding and wielding
The garments of lesser tools
In its primeval core, its secret is held
Body of fortitude

Pull my blade from molten sea
Like Excalibur from the lake
Its surface like the new moon
Cratered in the twilight
Greater than the stars
And warmer than the sun

-Galwyn

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