Dear friends, gather 'round, pray lend me your time,
I've come here to tell you a tale.
Of courage undone, and rose petals won,
And the Sword of Summerway Vale.

In autumn, the winds of Summerway sighed,
And the town was colored with leaves.
The women sang songs, and men sang along,
While children played war in the reeds.

Among those good folk lived one man apart,
Who happily married quite young.
His wife played the strings, and tailored his things,

At daybreak the man would tend to his shop,
Which came stocked with a sword or two.
He also sold spice, which fetched a high price,
If word of the townsfolk was true.

But nightfall would bring a stillness to town,
With nary a person in sight.
While supper was made, he worked with his blade,
And trained 'neath the waning moonlight.

His skill with a sword was hardly of note,
Despite all the practice he sought.
But 'patience breeds strength,' he heard at great length,
So again with shadows he fought.

At supper his wife would silently sit,
While the man ate his meal with a grin.
And when he was fed he'd take her to bed,

But one night had differed from all of the rest,
As the man took to hand with his steel.
For through the black cold tread a beast of old,
And with it a terror made real.

Its eyes brightly burned like ebony stars,
Its wings were a crooked disgrace.
It spotted the man, so to him it ran,
With hunger to spur on its pace.

In darkness the man did see it approach
And though he stood armed with a blade,
It drove him away, in utter dismay,
And fled he to where his wife laid.

He slammed the door shut with fear in his eyes
And hid in the cellar to die.
He heard his wife yell, he gasped, his heart fell,
And the beast faded swiftly to night.

Frantic he bounded up out of the dark.
He found his wife crumpled in pain.
Her belly was gashed where the monster had slashed,
And blood pooled beneath her like rain.

He took up her hand that faded to white,
He watched her short life ebb away.
But there by her head, his sword drank the red,
And sealed up her spirit like prey.

The man watched his weapon then don a red cloak,
The metal a rich crimson hue.
Empowered, he stood, then pulled up his hood,
And sought out the beast he did rue.

Alone in the night, he found the old fiend,
Having feast on each home in the town.
He drew up his sword, and quickly charged for'd,
And swung the blade down on its crown.

The edge split the beast from horns to its feet,
Like apple skin peeled with a knife.
Enchantments it bore; the beast was no more.
Yet the man thought of naught but his wife.

For her soul was bound to the steel and the hilt,
Through some magick twist left to chance.
So empty he strode, her fate on him sowed,
To wander the Plains in a trance.

They say he guarded the south for an age,
His magick blade never grew frail.
Rose petals would chase each path he did grace,
Oh, the Sword of Summerway Vale.