Sitting at a bar
I heard the song of a bard,
So mournful and clear,
Each note drew me near.

His voice pure as water,
The calm before life's storms
Making my heart flutter,
With unwanted forms.

His fingers, they danced,
Not missing a beat,
As into his strings he entranced,
The memories bitter and sweet.

I lingered to hear
The stories not said
That lay buried deep
In the tunes that he played

The endings unknown
Of tales left untold
In the chord progressions he'd sown
Those secrets to unfold.

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Ero, in the year 934 AF.