There once was a proud city,
their knights gleaming in polished steel.
It is a sight so pretty,
a secret lust in their hearts for thrill.

There was an enemy in their sights,
but did not strike the first blow.
The enemy lie await through nights,
Hoping to reap what the knights sow.

So the tale may come to pass,
or the desire will ever grow.
But I just smoke grass,
What do I know?

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Miraman, in the year 734 AF.