From the same world as the Siren’s call poem. A bit more of a historical piece.

In the woods a ring of stones
Black as night, strong, alone.
A portal held against the foe
From other worlds and long ago.

A clan there was of warriors strong
Who guard the gates through ages long
And kill the beasts that yet come through
As ages past and worlds yet grew.

Though war would call them from their task
And they bleed more than any man should ask.
Still to their duty they ever cleave
On battlefield or under forest eaves.

Though ancient foes hunt them down
Again and again they nearly drowned
In rivers of blood spilled from their kin
Still they rose to battle again.

Calling warriors to share their pain
The thrill of the hunt and the guardian name.
They challenged the wicked, monstrous foe
And held it back as its power still grows.

The stone of their will shall never yield
They stand at the threshold: guardian and shield.
If they should dwindle or should grow strong
They cleave to their duty o’re centuries long.

Guardians copyright © Heather Strickler 2025 all rights reserved.