Moon light slides,

Across the surface of the lake.
A whispered mighty hero,

Gliding across a perfect mirror.
The fallen warrior lies still,

His blades sunken to the ground.
As a rose of red blossoms out around him,

The sprites of the perfect lake
Bare him forth to Thoths gates.

Forever to dwell in the heat of battle,
And the mirth of celebration there after . . .

His name in blood,
shall for ever he be remembered!


Penned by my hand on the 17th of Ero, in the year 276 AF.