My Golden Shield
By Thomas S
Hanging from a wall,
dusty but shiny
It’s not too new
but never too old.
Round is its shape,
full of mystery.
Its letters are faint
but always been understood.
Where it was made, no one knows,
what it is for becomes simple
Medieval times it could have been used.
It has pressed in patterns,
Pressed in my memories
Olden times, people have lost or won battles,
Lived or died.
This shield means the world to me