He is the master of what he knows
the man who strides neath hoary boughs
The reaches bear their burden drear
when light and sun burn seldom clear
In hand, the master holds his sword
It leaves it mark like flesh to cord
With honor strong and fury quick
his name abroad, with fame is thick
No enemy can blunt his force
That challenge is a wayward course
Again he’ll see the sun shine bright
and set the darkness deep, in flight
He is a man of tortured mind
No peace in life is his to find
ScrutinyInFaith 