In shadowed vale, a hero fell,
With broken sword and silent bell,
Their quest for glory, lost in night,
Under the moon's pale, waning light.

Yet in the dark, a whisper stirs,
Hope's gentle breath, like softest furs,
"Arise, brave soul, your path not done,
With rising of the morrow's sun."

For every fall, a chance to rise,
Beneath the ever-changing skies,
The journey's call, once more to heed,
In failure's soil, plants success's seed.