A Knight, armour stained,
Sitting amongst the dewy grove.
His face a dark complexion,
For wrongs done, feelings so cold.
Harshest is the night when the heart is trodden upon,
Every breath an agony.
But prithee, Sire, lonely charge,
Raise thy noble head.
For the dawn doth beckon at the mountains peek.
Hope to hold on toAnd wisdom to seek.