I passed my son my sword.
Hard-fought were the battles
Scarce-won the mastery
for which my sword is symbol.

Flourished high in glittering arcs
that cast rainbows about his crown
I cast my sword up.
A spear of light it hurtled down.

No upstretched hand met swords hilt
No joyous shout claimed my bequest
Ignored it fell and clattered, skittered
to his feet and lay at rest.

Heirloom it was but valued not
A sword's no use in modern times
Weapons changes and values flee
and a sword's just a symbol for crimes.

I thought to give a transcendent gift
instead I handled chaff.
Legacy lies not in hand-me downs
but in surrendered life.
Give not your sons of things of yours
but give them merely life.