On the thirthieth day of National Poetry Month, I present a poem about battle and fighting for a cause. The specific culture doesn't have a lot of details in my world yet, but The Hound of Illustir will probably be one of the first (and my world's version of Old Yeller). It will be interesting because I only have a few notes so far and a number of Almanac entries.

My Father's Ring

My father's ring
Worn in the Battle of Takair
He died a week later
Now I wear it to my own battle.

My father's father's ring
Cut from his finger in disgrace
His betrayal still hurts
Now I wear it to remind me to charge.

My father's father's father's ring
Forged when we still had a home
Shapes of irons he dug up
Now I wear it to survive.

My father's father's father's father's ring
Given to us by a foreigner
A payment for his youngest daughter
Now I wear it to save her children.