My sword— has it become too dull to wield,
And will this armor gird my aging frame?
Shall I arise in rage, or bow to yield,
Pronouncing war an angry, young man’s game?
So many friends are foes; old foes, now friends,
Alliances established, then destroyed.
Such sweet beginnings led to bitter ends
When love was halved, and cast into the void.
But battle is the heat that warms my blood
When winter sleeves the earth with skins of frost—
Old warriors will vie in ice or mud
To die with honor gained when life is lost.
So I will fetch my sword and breach the wall
Once more to reach my peak — before I fall.
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