Briefly, thieves entered the home of a couple on the outskirts of Buenos Aires.. The homeowner, a 49 year old metallurgical worker, had a katanka, or traditional Samurai sword, hanging on the wall. Here is the poem and attached is a brief history of this particular kind of sword and a more detailed description of the incident. You just might enjoy it.
Sue Littleton –April 11, 2015
I was forged in tradition and love of tradition,
beaten and hammered by a Master
pn a merciless hearth.
Sixteen times He folded my steels into strength,
My honed, forever-sharp blade a shining promise,
my very creation a whispered memory of death.
Grace and balance in my form,
unbreakable, unbendable, razor-sharp cold steel–
a “collector’s glory.”
It was my fate to be hung on a wall,
my beauty gleaming like tame lightning,
my hard edge forever banned from drinking blood.
Memory was pounded into my being;
I am a katana, the long sword of the Warrior Clan,
a Samurai sword.
There are no longer Samurai to raise me against invaders,
but I and others like me are honored in Japan
and the world,
My keeper understood metals, knew how I had been created.
He hung me on his wall and often gazed at me with admiration,
for he had obtained me knowing my history.
Last night the robbers came, threatening, menacing,
arrogant in their number.
I felt the anger sliding down my length and I whispered,
“I am here!”
He lifted me gently down and suddenly
I was swinging through the air, leaping gladly into battle.
The robbers fled, bleeding and sobbing.
The blood was wiped from my blade and once again
I was hung on the wall, purring with joy,
for I had realized the katana dream,
defending my people from incursion.
Moi et les trois chats joyeux == == ==