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On the thirthieth day of National Poetry Month, I present a poem about battle and fighting for a cause. The specific culture doesn't have a lot of details in my world yet, but The Hound of Illustir[1] will probably be one of the first (and my world's version of Old Yeller). It will be interesting because I only have a few notes so far and a number of Almanac[2] entries.
1: https://fedran.com/hound-of-illustir/
2: https://fedran.com/almanac/
My Father's Ring
My father's ring Worn in the Battle of Takair He died a week later Now I wear it to my own battle. My father's father's ring Cut from his finger in disgrace His betrayal still hurts Now I wear it to remind me to charge. My father's father's father's ring Forged when we still had a home Shapes of irons he dug up Now I wear it to survive. My father's father's father's father's ring Given to us by a foreigner A payment for his youngest daughter Now I wear it to save her children.
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