With his canoe, he paddled on the lone sand

Deafening noise and yet no sound

For years he awaited the sun’s appearance at night

He grew so weak that he became a knight

His greatest fear is that he is fearless

Taking caution with him implies one is careless

Those in his future died in the time past

So slow that he won every race before they start

Perfectly imperfect to be seen as perfect

Gallantly, he strolled around the crowded but empty market

And towards the woman who was the husband of her wife

Then she sold to the man who neither came to buy nor sell

Long life to the king destined to die young

Through whom their happiest sorrow “sprung”

Sadly, they composed the song for his coronation

Happily, it was sang at his funeral

Where he delivered a speech as their general

The lines are hidden inside the moon

You need a missal to crack this.