I see you

Crossing the moat in a boat

lump grows in the throat

My chest tightens

And gut churns

Feeling spirit burns

Holding the cards

Close to my chest

Where the gold lay hidden

Beneath my celestial crest

Pulling myself together

Like the tuned strings of a cello

A voice resonant, balanced and slow

Calls the waters to shudder and rise

Precisely by the north wing the lone warrior dies.