My silver mirror marks the scores of time,
Alabaster and gold corroded grey;
Yet in the eyes remains a light refined
The last proud vestige of youth’s brighter days.
Still in that glass a story retold there,
In lines of love and laughter, joy and strife
To chronicle a passage rich and rare,
One not to be recast, though faults be rife.
Once long ago a boy did make a sword
From sticks he found upon a forest floor,
He raised it high and in soft solemn words
Pledged there to vanquish dragons, this he swore;
And demons fell each day throughout his reign,
Though darkness ever loomed, the light remained.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.