"Blade: A Warrior's Lament"

I miss it
Its cold, folded steel a comfort,
Reassuring to weathered hands
A companion constant
A decision instant
Our movements a dance

I long for it
Its fine edge a biting kiss
Just the two of us
Sharp, quick justice
To hold it again
Be bold, old friend
Forgive me my sin

I will reclaim it

"'Twas The Morn After Christmas"

On the other side of a nine-paneled pane,
Leaveless trees shivering in the cold,
Branches stretching, reaching, aching for the sun

Within, sleep and slumber start to wane
Four generations celebrating the Birth
People stretching, reaching, waking—new day begun