The Chest of Runes

Singing a song at the burrow’s nest
I seem to wary of the words that flow
They seem to wield a blunt sword
From their scabbard with favorite runes

They stop and sight their favorite feast
And upon them they shower their gift
They wield the sword as if they rule
From their scabbard that wields the blunt

As I sing at the burrow’s nest
I seem to wonder of the words that flow
From the scabbard with my favorite runes
Showered upon my favorite feast

They seem to wield an often flame
The flame that catches the nest’s eye
I sit beside the burrow’s nest
Wondering about the words that showered

They often reach their favorite feast
Blunt with words and runes that speak
From their scabbard they wield the blunt
Wondering about the words that showered