The Scimitar

Damascus steel. A razor's edge.
Beat into life by sweat and hammer.
No knife to slice a lettuce wedge;
designed to cut through shield and armor,
she sings her dances through the air,
as Saracens defend their prophet.
Knights of the Cross have traveled there,
for Christ, for Glory, and for profit.
Damascus steel flows through her veins
and always ready for a letting.
Bloodied and sated, ancient plains
that history can't bear forgetting.