My sword rests still
beneath my pillow,
in readiness for those
who wait to ambush.

And for every strike
seeming mortal wound
I deflect the blows of
scars that will never show.

So, unsheath my friend,
never my foe
your blows may rain
but I will grow.

Because I have walked
the burning coals
with blistered feet
of hardened soles.

My defence is none
save only love
and for this
I take up my sword.