I have beaten my love on that anvil of heart
and have quenched all my fire in those hissings of oil.
Wavering lines form the flat with gray coldness impart,
while the crystalled display has perfected my toil.
Yet the say of the sand is no more reprimand,
for free rings the soul of this sword from your hand.
After his Image 
brilliant ! Absolutely brilliant !
I had the first two lines to that a week ago..finally got around to finishing it. It’s sort of the answer to the previous poem. Glad you enjoyed.
happy you finished it!
As am I. Thanks for the continued reading.