The crisping in the leaves thou bright

A saber once but of a knight

For moving it into the light

The pinewood handle carved with mite

Something maybe just not quite

How it should give me such a fright

It is although sharp in spite

Of being old-last many a night

Through a time it has great smite

Feeling if it a birthright

I took it up, it shined a light

Felt just with as much a right

To me, for found the blade, invite

Me to pick it up it might

Have comfort at my small campsite

Greeting me as it glowed so white

Never shall I lose a fight

Quickly, temper, shall excite

All men, even more my height

Much o’ greatly of a sight

Blunder in my appetite

For victory, all my delight

But then I woke, for overnight

A wispy dream, so impolite

To shatter me, such a blight

The rapier sword of diorite