I saw a sword the other day-
It's blade was notched, and marred by rust-
How I wished it had a tongue-
Could tell of every single thrust-
And parry, which it's owner made.
And tales of comrades he did mourn-
And battles won? or battles lost-
Ere from the field his corpse was borne.
And barrack tales of life and love-
The girls the warrior left behind
To die upon a foreign field-
His memory fresh in every mind.
A mother in some distant ville-
Recalls the day she gave him birth-
And knows because he's not returned
No longer does he walk this earth.
I know there's not, but wish there were-
Valhalla for the warriors bold-
With buxom wenches, flagons sweet-
And shields and harness made of gold.
Ah, faithful blade, your master's gone
Yet in his grasp you once held sway-
You slew an escort ere he fell-
O'er River Styx to lead the way.
Live large, people!