The following was created by a Ni-Kunni from my household. This is not his first language, but as a mentor of mine for many years, he was moved to make the attempt, and insisted I enter this work on his behalf. It is an account of our earliest days together, when I was but a young second officer in the Imperial Navy fighting in the Bleak Lands. I took him into my own household after our Captain was slain in battle.
Behind the moon, we lay in decimation.
Our once prized fleet was burning.
Those who survived wept at our desolation.
Across, our foes gloated in preparation,
Like ants at night they scurried,
Mindless carrion, seeking replication.
Our Marshall wandered, seeking explanation.
So many had come so far.
Persist to our death? Or evacuation?
Alas, from God, there was no stimulation.
How had we lost his favor?
How great our sins must be to earn sedation!
Sleepless this night he sought for motivation.
He had to save the army.
And so he pondered, desperate for elation.
How could he complete this purification?
We had lost all advantage.
Now required strategic inspiration.
So on ahead he went for observation.
There he would survey the front.
And from the men, complete investigation.
But alert they were, vexing irritation.
Mourning dead, nursing grudges.
Encouraged, he developed this creation:
He sought to send one forward from this station,
To scout the enemy lines,
And for this task, he offered compensation.
One alone sought this reckless innovation:
Seraghis, a minor prince.
But no others would take this nomination.
For him, the Marshall had some reservation.
Captain, but that his was slain.
Perhaps this was his means to elevation?
Forth he went to attempt this infiltration.
A lone destroyer, they loosed
Like an arrow to attempt penetration.
And on the way, they glimpsed an invitation!
An uncloaked bomber spying,
So surely this was meant for reclamation!
By hand they plotted, judging estimation,
To hide among the debris.
And in the wrecks they hoped for obfuscation.
With a jolt the dual webs brought domination.
The spy was caught, far from help.
Alone, smitten, free for our confiscation.
The Matar spies squealed at our occupation.
Guns at their heads, they cowered.
To aid or die, this was our proclamation.
They claimed our foes consumed in fornication,
helpless in their libation,
There was no attack; refortification.
Then lest they err, we gave the spies damnation.
We moved to their lines and saw,
Them arming missiles from the Federation.
Their dense sentries ignored our our imitation,*
Firing torpedoes, they perished,
Their death throes havoc to their habitation.
But then ahead there was a new temptation.
There sitting alone, unmanned;
Typhoon battleship, feat of aviation.
Abandoning ship at this invitation,
We quickly seized this bounty,
And torched their gay camp in hellish cremation.
In command of this new prize, grand elation!
We flew back toward our own lines,
And all their camp behind was animation.
Escorted now we raced back to our nation.
Our friends rallied ahead in adoration.
The Marshall smiled at morale restoration.
And all about us, a blessed ovation.