Buried deep where ages lie, I watched the countless years go by. No breath I take, no voice I own, for now I’m cast in hardened stone.

Cold, yet I carry fire inside. My wound becomes your light. Older than the blade beside, I sharpened every ancient fight. Break me: I only grow more keen. The coldest fire ever seen.

Many years ago, children would gather round me every Saturday morning, breakfast in hand, whilst I animated their day.

A game made for kings To test one’s whit You pull the strings But Sometimes it makes you throw a fit

In ancient halls of wisdom, his thoughts bridge east and west, a sage whose proverbs still teach the test of life.