Minutes turn to hours,
a day turns into a month.
Time marches onward,
yet the wounds refuse to close.
A warrior's mind,
and a maiden's sanguine heart.
Distraught from defeat,
torn asunder through great loss.
A blade dented, dull.
A burden heavy to bear.
Find your wayward way,
and seek for that which you've lost.
Grind and hone the edge,
of a blade reforged anew.
An edge ever sharp,
does a bladesmith create.
Take a stance and strike,
with blades both old and new.
Carve through your sorrow,
And leave it behind to lie.
You deserve to live,
even if they had to die.
Now step forward maiden, fly!