"The Sword doth call," the Lady said.
"It calls; it stirs my blood."
"What sayeth thou?" her Lord did ask.
"What sword doth call thy blood?"
"Not a sword, no," the Lady said,
"Not some peasant sword of mud."
"Then what sword is it?" her Lord did ask.
"What sword didst call thy blood?"
"'Tis worn away from many a fray,
Its tassel, it has been torn.
But there's a light, a light so bright,
Upon the pommel worn."
"A ruby set creates a debt
Between the Bearer and Blade,
And if in a fight, should Bearer create plight,
This debt, it must be payed."
"I know this for, though I knew lore,
I did do such a deed.
And though I knew, I went askew,
And innocent blood did bleed."
"And I, distressed, I do desest
To face a fate so grim,
And yet I must, for turn to dust
Shall I. It's the Sword's whim."
"If I had sense, need not repent
Would I, yet it is true.
I did a wrong; my chance is gone;
I cannot start anew."
"The Sword doth call," the Lady said.
"It calls; it stirs my blood."
"Why didst thou cross," her Lord did ask,
"The fateful Sword of Blood?"