Who dreams the dream you dreamed of when

You slept the sleep of sleeping men,

And kept the Keep from keeping them

From hiding where you hid back then?

Who casts the curse of casting slow

While walking waning winter snow,

Knowing knowledge no men know

To call upon the calling crow?

Who shields the shielding shield in case

The holder bows and bends and breaks,

Weakening the weakened brace

And opening the opened space?

Who wields the wielding Sword of Wise

That foretells foretold demise,

Foreboding, forty fold in size,

For in its sight, good fortune dies?

Who bows the bowing bow so bold

And tells the tales already told

Of gods and gluttons’ greed for gold

And bards who battle beasts of old?

Who’s cloaked in cloaking shadows black

With potent poisons in a pack,

And dagger’s best when at the back

Of enemies in lighting lack?

Who heals the health of falling friends

With hands that quickly, surly mend

The wounds endured time and again

Against the darkness to defend?

Who wakes to worlds of waking light,

No memory left of forge or fight,

Forgetting force and makeshift might,

The battle left behind in sight?