<untitled>
By MPTGraves
Walking in the falling rain,
the quenching of a blade in flame;
tempered, now, by hot and cold,
destined for enduring old;
powerful but only steel,
causing pain I cannot feel.
Sitting on a fallen log,
lost amidst the sifting fog;
a voice that's crying out for aid
in vain, I softly drift away.
Lying on the fallen snow,
a bitter, soughing wind that blows,
changing nothing as it goes,
I have nothing to bestow.
-mg