The Last Master of War Ii

I who have dwelt long On the keeping of a vow, That which is folded into Steel -- And hammered and drawn -- The making and remaking -- Melded and beaten into one, Sat now pondering Upon all thus whence forged At the battles heightened Pitch... For where else do men Discover a truer kinship Than when engaged in fierce War? Immersed in deep thought -- Mesmerised by glint and glare; Drawn into the fractured glass As a distracted man, Ensconced at the bright Hearths side, Stares vacantly into flames. Images, memories; A mind, pliable as water, Crowded with dead, long ago Faces Of those comrades slain... For no promise ever made Was truly made unless kept. My little craft stirs As rousing from idle dreams; Shrill birdsong from woodland Fringe, Glib mallards laughing; Incessant lap, lap, lapping, Mist dissipates at lakes edge; Prow swings slow about As if turned by unseen hands. And out across the vastness, This wide emptiness, Faraway voices calling... Then gone like evening breeze.