My Song
My song that was a sword is still. Like a scabbard I have made A covering with my will To sheathe its blade.
It had a flashing tongue of steel That made old shadows start; It would not let the darkness heal About my heart.
Hazel Hall
My song that was a sword is still. Like a scabbard I have made A covering with my will To sheathe its blade.
It had a flashing tongue of steel That made old shadows start; It would not let the darkness heal About my heart.
Hazel Hall’s speaker imagines her song as a sword that has now gone still. It used to have a “flashing tongue of steel,” cutting through old shadows and keeping darkness from closing around her heart. But she has chosen—or forced herself—to silence it.
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