Relieved, the heart, of duties past
The sun, at dawn, gives birth once more:
If morning breaks, through heat and thrust,
All elements their parts restore.

In furnace cast, if hammered — shaped
Begotten meaning in the art—
No pain is true if solely draped!
Its particles are whole, apart.

A simple sheath, to carry weight
Of times gone by, forever sealed.
Created so, to cut and grate,
A hilt to grip, an edge, annealed.

Alas! The soul must crystallize
Before the sword it can withdraw
And shed its light, and realize
The sharpest blade — a likely flaw.