There was a knight who fought for the sun,

And his brave chivalry shone so bright.

In the hundredth battle, he fell to one,

Into a shower of red and golden light.

With a clang, things fell from hands,

And their knees kissed the wet, red ground.

Clasped palms prayed, but on the battle lands,

Cried those who loved, beside the howling hounds.

His last breath preached careful words,

A song of wisdom into the ears of towering sons.

The work of sooth he had played like a mockingbird,

And wished it had reached the same desperate ones.

"Call for light, beware of choice,

And they will look at you with tangled eyes.

But perhaps they shall come to praise

The shining armor beneath."

"Fight for light, beware of choice,

And they will sing flutes in your name.

But perhaps they shall come to envy

The proud chest of thyself."

"Die for light, beware of choice,

And they will cry, promise remembrance.

But perhaps they all are lying,

For you are to be forgotten anyway."