We once had a love that could move mountains,
Ever purer than the fresh-fallen snow.
Next to you I had often awoken,
content to bathe forever in your glow.
Yet once a morning came that you were gone,
and I searched every hill,crevasse, and brook.
at last I stopped, after had passed an aeon,
I simply did not have the strength it took.
A century was spent in deep mourning,
a fog had clouded over my eyesight.
I'd give just anything to hear her sing;
without, I used to lie awake at night.
And yet, for all that tragedy hath wrought,
this heart still beats in my chest, does it not?

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Mayan, in the year 733 AF.