Four Iron Blooms
Four iron blooms, a rigid grace,
Fleur-de-lis etched upon each face.
Not born of field, nor sunlit bough,
But forged in fire, yet strong somehow.
The first, of faith, a beacon bright,
Guiding souls through darkest night.
The second, power, firm and bold,
A story whispered, yet untold.
The third, for wisdom, keen and deep,
Secrets of ages it does keep.
The last, for honor, ever true,
A promise held, a steadfast hue.
Four iron flowers, cold and strong,
A symbol’s song, where they belong.
Though forged in fire, their purpose clear,
A legacy etched, for all to hear.
