Give me your hand, and show
The lines of the night,
Across sweated palm, sweet one.

Talk to me of moments gone,
When blade struck blade,
And leathers creaked a song

Of sad regret over fallen hearts
That lie chill and lost upon 
The fields of time unceasing

Let me feel the glories there,
When nought but the brave dared
Cross the ridge of neverness
‘Neath the starburst o’er
Triple places cornered; the soultide
Hazed of suns lost to your mind.

Give me your hand, sweet one;
I will show thee the lines
Of darkest, blackest night on
Your soft, moon-gentle palm, 
And watch the story dawn anew
In your eyes.

-- Kasastra