(Based on Shakespeare's Sonnet XLVIII)
How careful was I when I took my axe,
Each orc-neck under truest edge to thrust,
That, in my use, it might forever whack
The heads of falsehood, those lacking in trust!
Ah thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,
Most worthy comfort, bears my greatest grief;
Thou, best of dearest, and mine only care,
Are left a-notch'd from that iron thief,
Alas, had I only buried deep in orc-ish chest,
Saving thou that collar! dulled I feel thou art,
Blunt and needing whet-stone. No longer rest
From warrior's pleasures thou, sharpened cut apart.
And thence thy edge wilt be stolen I fear,
For headcount proves thievish for a prize so dear.
(Based on Shakespeare's Sonnet LII)
Someday I will be rich, with blessed key
To bring me to my sweet up-locked treasure,
The which I will not every hour survey.
For blunting the fine point of dwarvish pleasure.
Therefore dwarf gifts are solomn and so rare,
Since seldom coming, in the long year set,
Like stones of worth they thinly placed are,
Or captain jewels in the carcenet.
So is friendship with you like treasure chest,
Or as the jewel which the gold doth hide,
To make these Elf-shared decades special-blest,
By slow unfolding of life through your eyes.
Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope,
Being had, to forests, being lack'd, to hope.