My Grandfather's Sword

I was but a young lad, four or five at best,
When granddad walked into the room,
Holding something to his breast
He said sit down my boy,

For this,
You must see.
A blade that's battered and broken,
But it means something to me.

He drew it from its scabbard,
The blade,
Blunted at the end, He said,
My boy,

This sword you see,
Is yours from here on in,
The grip is fine,
Here, hold it tight,

No worries now for the point.
Your job is to learn the grasp,
To battle, but not fight.
This blade is no mere weapon,

It's a symbol,
To enlighten,
It's one of integrity,
Perseverence, and humility,

Stand tall and carry these,
As if you would a sword,
Raise them high,
Parry and thrust aside,

The challenges,
That life will bring,
Be proud of who you are,
And the true meaning,
Of this thing,

A sword it may be,
But of such deeper meaning,
This,
That my Grandfather gave me.

Learn more about this author, William Burkholder.
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