On you all those three hundred stars await,

the shatttered glass of petals blown apart,

those acapella candles of the fates,

heard amid the glow of beating hearts.

Oh watch, my love, their softest cherry light,

still bright as blood from tender thron-pricked hands,

which murmurs in the tongue of youthful flight

and whispers of the jasmine-scented lands.

"Remember me," they say when black ink falls,

"Remeber laughter flooded with champagne."

For night devours what stars cannot enthrall,

And age consumes the hearts that never change.

So if you do recall this Spartan song,

I pray you lift your eyes and sing along.