A valley shudders, burdened with the weight
of sewers, lumber mills and mortared stone,
but death is not to be this valley's fate.

Where once the noble conifers grew straight
and maples canopied a forest home,
the valley shudders under Cyrene's weight.

And yet, the spread of weeds will not abate.
The Cycle turns in meat picked to the bone
for death is not to be this Forest's fate.

Though some declare no guilt over its state
and relegate these crimes to History's tomes,
the living valley shudders with their weight.

In City gardens, wildflowers wait.
For Nature's heart still beats in dormant loam
and death is not to be this valley's fate.

While citizens rake leaves off their estates,
young roots stretch into Ministrickle Road.
The valley shudders under Cyrene's weight
but death is not to be this Forest's fate.

Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Aeguary, in the year 972 AF.