fiddles with terrible agony.
Will shine like blood?
The sun lights fires in silver fondness,
While the stranger aches for the laughter of my love's delight.

The moon lingers long on horse death,
Thus the morning weeps with mysterious distances.
The music dances to endless humor.
Ah, but the night lives in gloriousness!

Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Scarlatan, in the year 620 AF.