Who am I?
I am all on my own,
Wounded by iron weapons and scarred by swords.
I see battle so often.
I weary of war.
I do not believe I will be allowed to retire from warfare
Before I am utterly done in.
At the city walls, I am knocked to and fro
And mauled again and again.
Keen-edged things made by the blacksmith’s hammer hound me.
Each time I wait for something harsher.
I have never been able to find a surgeon who could heal me
Or give me medicine made of herbs.
Instead, the sword gashes all over me wax larger day and night.
Must I give you the answer?
A shield.
C. T. Suddeth 
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