Lament of Remembrance for Love and Honor
  (The Sad Ballad of Morte and Martel)

 Twas on the outer terrace cold
 Amidst the fog and ice,
 We gathered round to witness
 The loss of paradise.

 Viola dressed in black brocade
 Sadly scanned each face
 then bravely lifted up her head
 determined in her grace.

 Twas for her this duel began
 though in her, was no blame;
 the gentle dove of poetry
 whose love each man would claim.

 The poet Noddi spoke a verse
 To bid his last adieus;
 For no one knew the outcome
 Of who would win or lose.

 The seconds were requested
 As Philo passed the swords;
 A moment passed to ponder
 Honor's last rewards.

 And when no reconciliation
 Within them could be found,
 Morte gazed in one direction
 while Martel stood his ground

 Morte's silver hair danced in the winds
 As he stated forth in pause,
 He offered for apology
 He would recant the cause.

 Martel's dark eyes glinted gold
 The longsword he did wield,
 He offered thus to stop the duel
 If Morte agreed to yield.

 But neither would relent their cause
 And raised their swords to fight;
 Metal cut through icy air
 on that cursed night.

 Martel was the first to wound:
 Morte's shoulder wept in red
 But still, would not relent his cause;
 Eyes looked on in dread

 Charmiam held Viola
 Who paled at the men;
 But stood there in her quiet grace
 And waited for its end.

 Morte coldly stared into Martel
 And parried past his stead;
 Screamed the sword into his leg:
" Rest comes when you're dead!"

 Wounded, they continued on
 But then events bore strange;
 Morte began to stumble round
 Something seemed to change.

 The swords with fire rang and clashed
 And in the dark confusion;
 Tears divided Morte's sight
 Into terrible illusion.

 For suddenly he lunged his blade
 Towards Viola sweet, in err;
 Mistaking her for his foe,
 He blazed with sudden terror.

 Viola stumbled in disbelief
 Martel gazed helplessly,
 Then moved his chest into the sword
 Of Morte, for all to see.

 But Martel was not to go alone
 For in that frantic quest;
 Of blade that cleaved through icy wind
 Straight into Martel's chest;

 It found purchase in Viola
 And pierced her gentle arm
 All 'round gasped in horror
 And cried out in alarm.

 Martel in a pool of blood
 Morte drawing his last breath
 Viola collapsing silently
 their souls linked unto death.

 And then, but for a moment
 as many later said;
 It seemed as though a final glow
 filled the air, then fled;

 Released that night to spirit
 where one was sure to be;
 Fate claimed instead love's triad
 And drew not one, but three.