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.