To hear my song, read aloud for seeing is not hearing
And without hearing my voice, hear my song as it is
Without rhyme or meter, but to flow as I would like it
To tumble and trip over itself like a precocious kit

Like nightingales and larks, I too can sing
Without the same grace or trills but with spirit
Of melody and emotion, with such life and joy
That you'd never think the words were so hollow

For unlike the birds, I know not for what I sing
Not for suitors nor mates, never as warning nor
To herald the dawn, to greet the spring and summer
The birds have stories and messages, but I have none

My song is quiet, hidden in the wind and breeze
Unobtrusive, so as not to interrupt, not to offend
And without a beautiful dress to catch your eye
I wonder if you'll still hear my longing and hope

Yes, there must be something to hope for
Some emotion to feel through these bumbling words
When my eyes are raw and pink, I'd think
Give me hope or give me nothing at all

So, the reason for this meaningless song
Is, after all, love- because all we do, we do for love
That deepest note of affection and devotion
All steps we take lead to such a precious conclusion.




Penned by my hand on the 19th of Daedalan, in the year 579 AF.