Morning breath of Saturday glory
Blinding in its sight
Focused on a path of tomorrow
For today is inescaped.
And far above on Midnight’s hill
Rode a tall and lanky Knight
Who dreamt of far off Damsels
Who wore bright flowers of ancient pattern.
Down they swooped and lush they bled
For their heart was bound thy sleeve,
And bottled in a pit of agony
Lay the tremors that fought against
Each and every missing link
Of ancient pattern’s bloom.
But there it grew, there it lifted
Above horizon and into morn’,
There the sight of our dear Knight
Rode amidst Valley full.