New Sword

© 2002 J.C. Hall
All rights reserved.

She drew it from the scabbard
It slid out smooth and oiled.
It rang with a note pure and true
For this, long has she toiled.

She held it up to the sun
Light spun off the silver blade.
She weighed it in her hand,
She tossed back her chestnut braid.

Down the length of the blade she sighted
Straight and true it surely stretched.
Flawless, exquisite wonder,
Like a dragon newly hatched.

Its lightness due the fuller
Two-thirds of the blade it grooved.
Whorls of silver for the guard,
Topping the grip a pommel smooth.

She flourished it once, she flourished it twice
She rent and slashed the air.
She stepped up to a likely tree
Chosen for the test to bear.

In went the silver tip, she leant with all her might;
The blade flexed and bent in two.
She eased; in her eyes there sparked a light,
And the blade-- it sprang back to true.

She withdrew it from the tree,
A leaf came fluttering down.
It split into pieces two
Long ere it touched the ground.

Pensive a while she stood.
She resheathed with due care.
From this moment on a traveller was she
And the silver sword hers to bear.

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