In the night of a Knight,
The Starry sky does befriend.
Tales sail, throughs voices unheard.
Patrolling over Ramparts, swords held close.
Comfort in the form of a breeze through my hair.
It's late now, and the torches must go out.
For most slumber, in this Holy town.
The Knight though, patrols on.
His eyes, always watching the sands.
His ears, always hearing the howl of the wind.
His hands, always grasping the handles of his blades.
His nose, always smelling the burnt torches.
His mouth, always tasting the cool air.
And the Knight, always alone.

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Vita, in the year 407 AD.