A
noble horse parts the iron storm clouds
his
snow wings nurse skies rent by tears
He
bears a maid born in pure rays
A
holy race bows to Luce their bride.
The
regal steed lands; earth brims green hope
his
gilt horn flares; sin roars and spits.
New
glory robes hearts; they soar past woods
and
drift in peace with Luce well blest.
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