Never thought how I feel would reveal me
for how desperately weak I am
despite individual moments
of being the sword to fall
in intense situations.
Growing colder and older,
growing heaviness depletes
the energies I may spend
on myself.

I heard you were in the mood for company.
Could I be
the sword for you, if you'll save me?
The warm for you, if you'll warm me?
I heard you were traveling, companionless.
Could it be
that wandering brought you past
the burrow where I sleep,
for one reason, to complete needs
untended in my home
in equal exchange
In trade
for what may deface the road?