~ By Courtesy of Others ~
The Fighter's War Cry is Poetry,
for it comes from their soulThe poet settles through the hall at night.
He joins within the scattered talking there.
His lute and harp are strung to ease the fright
Reminding sons and brothers what they dare.
The heroes from the past do live again
With legend for their blood and fame their name.
Cold weapons hot with purpose do begin
To pulse with passion for the daylight game.
Around the hall, the hounds of battle stay.
And, with the night, lay quiet for the now.
Come dawn, all thought of else will shattered be
But now, in dreams, their fear does furrow brow.
The harper plays to give them strength and cause.
The morrow sees him sing with what he draws.© GregRobin Smith
See more chivalrous works at Brand´s Poetry Page and his yahoo Poetry List .