The Holy Lance Poem by William R. Suda III

Their souls will ever dance,
As they kiss the Holy Lance;
With lips that touch and go in delight;
Not daring to imagine their might.
They wait with glinting eyes;
As the seraphs sallee in the mist,
Nestles as a delicate bossom sighs,
And awaits the angels' kiss.
By Peter's vision of the site,
Lionheart renewed the holy fight,
To conquer the infidel,
And the bastion Antioch fell.
The onus is with the shade,
As the copious tears are shed;
When mournful count is made,
Of the fallen valiant dead.
The double-bladed axe of fate,
Asks not if the lady of luck is in,
But only if they have a date,
Without mortal sin.