Sword Blades
A Petition
 

I pray to be the tool which to your hand
  Long use has shaped and moulded till it be
  Apt for your need, and, unconsideringly,
You take it for its service. I demand
To be forgotten in the woven strand
  Which grows the multi-coloured tapestry
  Of your bright life, and through its tissues lie
A hidden, strong, sustaining, grey-toned band.
  I wish to dwell around your daylight dreams,
The railing to the stairway of the clouds,
  To guard your steps securely up, where streams
A faery moonshine washing pale the crowds
  Of pointed stars. Remember not whereby
  You mount, protected, to the far-flung sky.