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THE LOST SWORD

I’ve found a sword in a battlefield
Where the mighty called the fallen land
It created the field with its bent
After it stooped so low to conquer the bent
In its hide was pushed to wall
And its voice was heard in the city’s wall
To quench the land thirst for knowledge
By the sword I pledged to its old and worn badge
When it birthed the soil
With its atypical movement fashion toil
I swayed when I held its grip
Like whirlwind on a trip
To strip the old and new cankerworms
Which had eaten up the corms.

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Last few words: 
The poet emphasizes on pen which he refers to sword. The fallen land is his country...
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Comments

i like the finding of a lost sword on a battlefield of old...

a suggestion: your rhyme seems forced. i'd change all the repeated words to something that is rhyming, but a different word.

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