Etan whose voice makes music out of words
whose son shamed stingy Bres to leave the throne
whose husband hurled the heavy champion’s stone
whose thoughts flow from her tongue like herds
of bounty. You know the graceful weave of lines,
the meter’s call, alliteration’s singing
beat, the punning words whose double meaning
dips and dances through the patterned rhymes.
With words you unfold the worlds but to your will—
The battle won, the people wise and well,
the family whole, you weave your dictive spell
Your worlds are truth, though formed out of your skill.
No warrior stands against a poet’s tongue
their battle lost ere they have yet begun.