Over the castle fireplace lays a sturdy but mangled shield
The shield is worn, cracked, and scarred
Its planks so warped, they look like handholds
The wood shield does not shine like those of bronze or iron,
But is respected for its survival and reliability its given nature.
While other shields are displayed in groups along the wall
Or others piled wide and high on the floor ready for use,
This shield has passed through time,
Retired at the throne above the eyes of the King.
There may come a day of siege when the shield will revive
The battle will bring a soldier worthy of a fight,
Over lands of blood, the claps of sword against shield ringing,
Until those broken by war watch the master guide,
Ferociously pushing through the lines.
On the final crest, where dignity is never lost but made
Unwavering in the night though feeling fear and pain
The battle is won, the shield penetrated with jabs and scars
Forever stained with new blood but cleansed and whole
There is another generation of ardor for the symbol of sacrifice.
Whether or not the path home is the same, the weary shield
Would retire once again to the hearth as it rests
In the hall of wonders the shield beautiful in its experience
Stories of its past widening eyes,
As I sit here telling these tales of pride
Wondering how my sister’s courage never died.