Once more into the breach, my friend, never to return.

You know, you can't help but know, that your time has come. You've rested among your brethren, barely distinguishable from them. Long you've lain in that wooden box with rarely a thought bent toward you. In silence and darkness you've felt the months and years pass by. You've heard the sounds of laughter and friendship just outside your reach as we greet our families and friends. You've heard the praises heaped upon this or the other new acquisition or bauble and perhaps you've doubted your own worth.

But be assured of your place. Everything around you exists because of you. The well-made and expensive, the luxurious, the decadent, will all return to their shelves, cases and prideful places of show at battle's end.

But not you.

They are heavy, finely crafted and often bejewelled. You are simple in your construction, though lovingly formed and sometimes draped with artful design. They catch the eye of most and the novice is always enamoured with them. Even the most battle-tested among us find ourselves distracted by them.

But you, my friend, you rest patiently and await your inevitable end with dignity and grace. Your harsh fate is known to you but you never disgrace yourself.

They know, and we know, that no matter how pleasing to the eye or touch, no matter their cost or value, they must stand silent when the true hero makes his final stand. When you are suddenly singled out from among your brethren, when you are finally given your due, and when at long last you stand naked before the flame, you know it will only be in your last moments on this earth.

As you meet the headsman and approach the pyre we sing your praises and give thanks to your makers. The smoke from your demise spreads to the heavens, briefly wreathing our heads with fragrant halos. As you are destroyed, so you will live forever in our memories.

Au revoir, my friend, and thank you.
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