I don the armor

I don the armor,
The scars scribe a tome
Placing it with honor,
The blade finds it home

Shifting chains of steel,
This battered coat of mail,
Links to fortune’s wheel,
What this instrument avail.

And to my ancient marrow,
And hairs of bleeding gray,
Two steps from the barrow,
This bastard of the fray,

The tome is of the music,
The song runs forward and back,
In times both joyful and tragic,
When heart’s own shadow attack.

The song still ear caress,
And tis love’s battle cry,
And in these cloaks address,
The bardic trysting tie,

For the armor is of honor,
And the scars are of fate,
The blade its own charmer,
Defies despite the weight

There I sip from the chalice,
And face the night a knight.
To old hands so callous,
Coveting this fight.