It's still to be made longer and I'm gonna change a bit because it contradicts itself but this is my unfinished poem, what do you think?
With foreign thoughts
and singing sword,
the knight of old
went abroad
His ebony skin,
his ivory hair,
he rode upon
the queen of the mares
His lips did not move
not to speak a word,
a vow once taken
his voice not since heard
He traveled till
his locks were long,
he traveled not
to right a wrong
He traveled till
his voice was hoary,
he traveled not
for fame or glory
He traveled till
he was old and wise,
he'd traveled because
the free bird flies
He opened his lips,
"cellar door" he said,
he'd broken his vow
because now he was dead
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