Villanelle Of Challenge

Go count the scars upon your soul and sing,
They are proof that you have met the foe,
A battered crown sits well upon a king.

Since Time makes honey out of sorrow’s sting
And wounds turn purple for the public show,
Go count the scars upon your soul and sing.
While sword or ploughshare on the anvil ring,
Soon, come what may, the fretting world will know
A battered crown sits well upon a king.

And care no more for what the dawn may bring,
Yours is a realm no knave can overthrow,
Go count the scars upon your soul and sing.
Aye, sing the praise for every lonely thing
that breaks its heart on all we say or know;
A battered crown sits well upon a king

Who stands aloof and fills his empty sling
With words and stones to meet fate blow for blow;
Go count the scars upon your soul and sing,
A battered crown sits well upon a king.

~A.M. Sullivan~

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