A curve, like a parentheses, each side
will do—concave, convex, it matters not—
it is a sword standing upright with pride.
A crossguard, too (a short line), has it got.
And this can be for many things, but most
of all, a dagger like this one belongs
to he who could, more blades than any, boast;
and for whom there were never written songs.
You’ll still find them in all the darkest crags,
where wicked works were wanton, wrought with woe,
where even the most diligent heart snags
against the temptation to kill his foe.
That’s what you do with daggers. So did he:
the rogue whose dagger is this one you see.
~~~
A leaf, and controversially so;
but so it is. You draw a tilde, then
a semicircle ‘neath one end, and go
above to make the top tilde again.
This is for she whose songs breathe as the wind,
whose wings beat every breath of air you take,
whose songs, despite her death, would not rescind
the life her laughter and her love could make.
We don’t remember her by a songnote,
nor by her feathered wings, but by this leaf,
that is the lasting message: life will float
as long as there is music underneath.
So learn to draw it well. She did not give
so much to be forgot by those who live.