Love Poems

Down at the harbour quarters romance lies in the air. Well, there's the overpowering smell of fish as well, but that's just fine for the two alley cats sitting on the chimney, surveying what the night has to offer. Ladies and gentlemen, meet Millie and Moe - two prowlers who have found each other...

“Ah, what a night!
Doesn’t it feel about just right?
The smell of fish hangs in the air,
out at sea a foghorn blares,
and up above the sky all starry,
so idyllic, picturesque and glary…
Such a beautiful night, right?”
So to his Millie said Moe,
to the harbor’s favorite puss
her jet-black tomcat beau.

“Aye,” Millie replied to Moe,
“what great an idea it was to go
up the roof and prowl about
now that we’ve dined
on that heavenly trout!
With dustbins full of the sort,
it’s a boon our home’s a port!”
And they both sat for a while,
reminiscing the day, the day,
they finally did reconcile.

“Aye,” Millie replied to Moe,
“what great an idea it was to go
up the roof and prowl about
now that we’ve dined
on that heavenly trout!
With dustbins full of the sort,
it’s a boon our home’s a port!”
And they both sat for a while,
reminiscing the day, the day,
they finally did reconcile.

“You know,” then began Moe,
“I never should have let you go.
But that’s just me, you see?
Just dumb ol’, jealous me…
Go on then, say it: ‘Told you so!’”
thus went the rueful Moe.

“Well, you’ve done your share
of being silly,” answered Millie.
“However, I’m quite aware
that in your weird ways you do care.
Why, with all what's been going on:
the ceaseless alleyway brawling,
your – er... – jarring caterwauling,
"serenading" as you'd call it,
and instead of catching mice
you prefer playing with dice.
Oh, and resting you do quite a bit,
my dear, lazily basking in the sun...
Though mostly you're good fun,
and even cat enough to admit
the plunders you have done...”

"So we're fine then, Millie?"
meowed the mawkish Moe.
"You'll go out with a ninny?
Oh, sweetie, I do love you so!
Let's tomorrow grab another dish,
and I don't insist on having fish..."

He earned a contented purr,
and Millie hugged him right there,
her paw stroking his pitch black fur.
And then the two reunited lovers
continued watching the full moon
– alas, he'd be gone pretty soon...
And as the clouds were drifting by,
Millie said, pointing to the sky:
"Now all we need is a serious plan,
how we can reach that luminous ball of wool,
how we can grab one of its threads and pull!
Together, I bet, we certainly can!
And now think of something, Moe,
for you're my man!"

These poems were inspired by the pensive mode and exceptional beauty of the young Ithsje Ciosaskjan in this picture, an Avennorian beauty who should become the wife of the Santharian King Mantheros II. It was drawn by the Masterbard Judith of Bardavos, and explores the poet's reaction in the form of an address to the depicted.

They never see this side of you.

All the people, passing by.
They see you at the balls
Or in the streets
Passing by.

They never know this side of you.

All the people, judging you
On how you wear your dress
For the flower in your hair.
Judging you.

They never see this side of you.

All the people, hiding lives.
They see the simple, polite façade
They see the lips, the eyes, the hair
Hiding a life.

They never know this side of you.

All the people think you are
Just another pretty face
They'll never know you
Think.

They never know this side of you.

In public you are gorgeous,
In private even more
But never with another soul
Are you simply what you are.

You wear a dress, a flower, a frown
But none will ever see
For when they come you straighten up
And are what they want you to be.

A string of pearls you contemplate
Each different from the last
But with other girls in other white dresses
You hide this knowledge fast.

When others talk about your hair
You listen, nod ; the while
They never think what lies beneath
The enigmatic smile

They come in ones, in twos, in droves
They ask you for a dance
With not a single one of them
Can you do aught but prance.

It falls to when you are alone
None to talk to but yourself
To think of what this life could be
And not merely be a shelf.

A shelf on which they keep
Their ideas, opinions, dreams
They care for what they put on it
But not for the shelf, it seems.

They see a pleasant, ruffled skirt
A pleasing string of pearls
A face to take the breath away
And beautiful dark curls;

They never see a mind that thinks
That struggles to be free
And you cannot reveal it
For it is not what they want to see

So carry on; deceive and hide
Your mind beneath your eyes
And hope that someone gazing in
Will see what in there lies.

The Lorehold holds many treasures, sometimes even more than known by its librarians. The following poem was found on a shelf with volumes concerning Kanapan and Remusian customs, but it's unclear whether it's in any way related to an author of Northern origin; the scroll was unsigned. The theme of love lost and found again is so universal that it can only be considered a fine example of Caelerethian poetry, if anything.

“Dear morning breeze, please be at ease
And rest a while with me
And if you could, do be so good
To help me out, you see,
The man I love lives to the north
And seldom do we meet
So please repeat my words so sweet
To him, oh wind, go forth.”

Over the hills and over the seas
My heart sings you a song
Oh lover won’t you hear my words:
Return where you belong.

“Oh midday calm, sit on my palm”
And deftly her hand rose
The wind sat down and then she said:
“You’ve seen him I suppose?
I know I have been mean to him
I know we used to fight
But wrongs I’ll right, I’ll hold him tight
Yet wind, why look so grim?”

Over the mountains, over the lakes
My heart sings you a song
These whispered words sound in the wind:
Come back where you belong.

The wind spoke calmly from her hand
“You read me like an open book:
Up in the north I crossed each land
And sang your song, but long it took
Before I found who you hold dear.
Alas, my words he would not hear.

Instead he sang his song out loud:
"A frozen heart you’ve given me,
By jealous lies, our fights and doubts
But all of it is yours, you see:
The moment it melts, it cries () for you
Our love will then again be true.”

Over the valleys, over the plains
My heart brings you a song
The answer wasn’t what she hoped:
“Tis here that I belong.”

The wind rose up in strength and said:
“He told me then you should have sent
The sun with mighty rays instead
For sunlight reaches foe and friend
And even when clouds hide her light
You know Injèrá lingers, bright

But we, the winds, all four of us
Direct your love but in one way
And all-compassing love, confess,
Is what winds never will convey
Yet once your love shines like the sun
Your hearts will beat again as one.”

Over the rivers, over the beach
My heart brings you a song
I hope you’ll help me melt my heart:
To you it still belongs.

An evening storm had just been born
And she cried out to it
“Twas all I gave, and all I craved
Was just to have a bit
Of love returned, but unconcerned
He lives on far away
So let him stay there, yes, he may,
A lonely life he earned!”

Over the deserts, over the woods
Two hearts have sang their song
The nightly hour shows no sun
In darkness they belong.

The night appeared, and no wind stirred,
And not a songbird heard
Exhausted lay, on heaps of hay
The lady undisturbed
A song still played on in her mind
She dreamt of love and light
Her smile was bright, by end of night
As dawn left all behind.

Over the islands, over the caves
The dawn brings a new song
Injèrá’s rays are full of grace:
“Together we belong”.

This poem was written by a penniless young Avennorian minstrel by the name of Jovrek Ranskan who became enamoured with the dancer and ran away to join the circus at which she worked. Although the romance did not prosper, Jovrek eventually became well-known as a Musical Accompanist (circa 1600 a.S.).

An acrobat upon the stage
She danced above a Pard'rin’s cage
As though she were an Ey'lian mage;
Dance magic!

With Lilliverian eyes so bright
Norsidan hair, as dark as night
This Krean tumbler was a sight;
Dance magic!

I watched her dancing on a wire
Her whirls and leaps grew ever higher
And I enraptured did admire;
Dance magic!

With splendid skill she’d spin and spring
Upon the wire, inside the ring,
Throughout my veins the blood did sing;
Dance magic!

The following poem was written by a Nybelmarian sorcerer, Coren FrozenZephyr, who immigrated to Santharia at an early age. Throughout the poem one can see Sarvonian myth merge with Nybelmarian belief. The poet laments his dead love, who appears in the form of a charmingly white Aelirel in the poem, and the state of despair he is in. Note that the poem darkens as it follows the passage of time from day to nightfall.

As the rain trumpets ‘gainst my sullen frame,
Coursing down to fused streams longing for calm,
To dampen winded paths, to meet Her grace,
I will miss you always my white, still wind.

Where ithildin casts the grieving firstflame,
Come sweet Aelirel, dance the gentle song,
Drift through the misty white, up the gloom spread,
And steal me to meet the Injèrán rise.

When the Mari dreams haze the dying light,
Sail through the glaze of night never-ending/everlasting,
Stretch your rieuing call, spread snow-frost wings,
And fall free to pierce the quiescent charms.

As the grey shade gives way to a dark reign,
Reeling in passing promises, leaping
To rising shades, to whispering shadows,
I shall dance for you my mellow sea hymn.

Take wing off this gray isle of ice and mist
Lurching in dark ecstasy ever-bound,
Roll off these carpets of misty white, up
The sapphire sky to greet the break of day.

Hear my panting prays Oh fair Aelirel!
Your laughter once to break these webs of grief
And hope to disrupt the flows eternal
For something in the soul, for something more!

Your white charming, the last gate fast swaying
Fall free and in a brighter place arise!

Recently some poetry from the Aeruillin years of Bard Judith, active Compendiumist and Bardavos's own Masterbard, has come to light and been collated by a talented young Academe. Narkathi O'rumi has made it his particular hobby to fill in missing biographical information on well-known scholars and other public figures, and believes that this collection of poems - the Trystan Cycle, as he is naming it - will shed some light on the otherwise fragmentary history of the Masterbard.

The excerpts are taken from the scroll ‘On the Love-Poetry of the Masterbard’, by Academe Narkathi O’rumi.

TRYSTAN: STREAMS

Still the pattern marks my dreams,
Behind closed eyelids, night or day,
Trystan weaves through slender streams.
Light and water fall away
From boat’s bow, blunt-prowed. Stay,

Trystan bright-voiced, singing as you row!
The tears from oarblade hang in poise
Then down the droplets fall and flow
To join the streamlet’s chanting noise,
Now sad. We had
Such joys.

DARK IS THE NIGHTTIME

(Commentary by Narkathi O’rumi: ‘I have assigned this lyric to the Trystan cycle of poems not only for its thematic content but also for the rather heavy-handed pun on the lover’s name in the last verse; ‘tryst – than’ seems to be an obvious allusion to ‘Trystan’.)

Dark is the nighttime,
Sober is the sea,
Happy is the pathway
That brings my love to me.

Cold is the moonlight,
Heavy is the snow,
Soft is the aelirel
That lets of love me know.

Deep is the forest,
Mournful is the dove,
Joyful is the sunshine
When I am with my love.

A tryst that’s kept is sweeter,
Than meldar touched with frost,
Bitterer than xazuran,
Is love that’s found then lost.

(O’rumi comments: ‘Note here the use of dashes to emphasize the audience, as well as for punctuation, replacing the more usual comma. The air of melancholy here is pronounced, and as the parchment has actually been dated we can place it with confidence in the Cycle.’)

Beware - young maids - in greening summertide
Of promises too quickly made to men.
When down Injèrá sends his warming rays
Then easily the heart is warmed again
And credulous the soul that does not think
Of autumn coming on and winter’s chill.
Those that will sow, but work not in the field
To reap - to harvest - stow - then take their fill
Of earn’ed labour from the grain they’ve ground,
Deserve no vows - no gifts - no earth to hold.
Let not your young men be - young maids - too bold.

(O’rumi comments: ‘The acrostic is easy to detect in this short piece, the more so since it seems hastily constructed and rhymed. Doubtless it was written as a bedgift, a sort of literary compliment - flowers in the morning? - and the Bard did not trouble herself to polish it further.’)

Time moves like a rusik
Running quickly past.
Youth is dragged along to
See and learn how fast
The ever-striding paces
Add up to centuries.
Now is the only time,
Oh lovers; take your ease.

The provenance of the following poem is unclear. Though attributed by some scholars to Monsonius (internal evidence and stylistic atmosphere), others argue hotly that its direct tone and preoccupation with sensuality would have been beneath the abstracted philosopher/poet, whose metaphors were generally more sophisticated and rarified. One of the foremost Monsonius sages, the Compendium's own Sage Federkiel, when asked for his opinion, states: "From the point of view of someone who has studied Monsonius' work intensely, I personally would doubt that the great Marcoggian poet could be responsible for such an fervent outbreak of sensuality. At least his love to Stela in practically all his other texts is described in idealistic form, and though Stela's physical beauty is unquestioned, it never plays a major role in Monsonius' writings. Nevertheless it cannot be entirely excluded that the poet cloaked such erotic feelings very well, and that he on the other hand had to express them somehow. Maybe he indeed managed to disguise the origin of this poem through his proficiency by writing it in a way one wouldn't expect him to write. But, alas, we'll probably never know."

Whomever its author, it is a carefully-crafted piece which treats frankly with sensual arousal and can hold its own in any collection of love poetry. Without more introduction, here is...

Hush, be still and listen in this quiet wood.
Here, the grass is cool and dry,
And trees are whispering secrets to and fro.

I know your secret, know your name,
My love, my dear.
Be still, and rest. Rest knowing that my care
Shall wrap you round as roots kiss soil.

Your heartbeat slows, your breath is easy now.
Sing, haloen, and soothe my lover's pulse,
Prepare our ears for other melodies.

Your body stretches on the emeraud moss
A willow slim, a baych tree strong.
To see you set amid the leaves
Makes all the landscape dusky, you aglow.

Yes, half-close your eyes, turn up your face,
I like to see it so,
Waiting tranquil as the earth
Waits for Injera's caress. Give me your lips.

There, the signs made clear; your flesh is warm
And ready to my wandering hands. And here,
Your mouth is roving in my shoulder's shuddering hollow,
Stealing my restraint and rousing blood.

The wind is rising, pulling at the grass,
It tugs away your clothes in wanton play.
The leaves are singing, tree limbs bend and twine,
Teaching my hungry arms, your ready thighs,
Showing our willow bodies how to root and draw
Deep satisfaction from the cradling earth.

‘Twas all illusions: What had I there seen
Enchanted by the noble magic of
Thine eyes. Thou whispered charms so soft, serene,
To conjure up this quiet, spellbound love.
And now, with sorrow made Soór, I weep.
Thy incantations I, a fool, dared trust.
Now Ecuán force rips my heart. Dear, keep
Thy quartz and clouds of silver dust
While, locked in runes and symbols of the past,
I curse thy brutal mantras, cruelest tomes,
And search for all thy spells for to uncast,
To break the links that makes thy heart my home.
Each day I wish these feelings to reverse,
But still they stay, a lonely lover’s curse.

Wilt thou possess affection still when I
am gone away? Or shall thy wayward heart
engage another lass and with her lie?
‘Tis true, I dread the day when we must part,
yet knowing Etherus’s power on
thy kind, how he may well incite thy lust,
I, earnest, question for when I am gone
if thou art true and chaste enough to trust.
Please tell me thou wilt love me when I’m far
away, and never take another to
thy bed—with love outlasting moon and star
and promise thou shalt always love me true,
for if I cannot have thee for mine own,
I’d rather be a maid and lie alone.

My heart for you is written on the sky
You’ll see it in the clouds before a storm
Or when Ineira's rays are at their height
When black night comes, my love will keep you warm
Will keep you warm.

My heart for you with injóh bird will sing
You’ll hear it in the Kev’lor’s triumph cry
In clash of steel on steel, its strength will ring
Or in the breezes whispering by
Whispering by.

My heart for you is found in babe’s sweet clasp
You’ll feel it on your skin in nul’tum fur
Or on your hands when horse’s reins you grasp
And through your hair when zephyrs stir
When zephyrs stir.

Love-dancing here, now, you and I
Caught up in pleasure-touching-fire
Soft kisses, tensely curving fingers
trace our desire.

We touch extremes of tender loving
with joy that's deep, but rarely still.
Down-soft love and stone-strong passion
both drive our will.

Oh, sweet strong force! It drives us on
with all the strength of Lier'tyan
And in that glorious consumation
Two become one.

THE SUN RETREATS
by Rayne Avalotus

Alas, the sun retreats into the west
And with her fade the wishes of my heart,
The longings for a future torn apart;
Now hallowed sorrow lingers in my chest
And echoed heartache keeps my soul from rest -
But what was never joined can never part,
And cannot end what love did never start,
So why such torment to my lonely breast?
Perhaps it was the sorrow for the rose
Whose bud did never open up to bloom,
Or maybe losing some most precious thought;
Or seeing not one dream in sweet repose.
Perhaps it was the journey through the gloom,
But never finding that for which I sought.

A bard, Sanara, had made a song;
A song that gave one might.
It wasn't hard (she WAS a bard)
To sing it through all night.

This bard, Sanara, had a mate;
A mate that showed no life.
For her no life meant no love
And no love brought her strife.

Poor Sanara, then kept singing
Her song throughout the town.
When she got home (tired as a stone)
Her spirits went back down.

Her mate would not receive her;
Not even with a hug.
He greeted only, left (poor guy)
And plopped upon the rug.

A bard, his name Orion,
Heard one day Sanara's voice.
He smiled and gasped "Aha! At Last!"
And called her in rejoice.

"Young maid!" He called, with sweetness.
"How powerful is your song."
"I've searched for you, (all night, it's true!)"
"Because your voice is strong!"

"Alas!" she answered sorely,
"With you I cannot roam,
He's calling me, now do you see?
I must be getting home!"

"Now listen here!" he bellowed,
"That man, he loves you not!
He makes you cry, his heart is dry...
BUt your song, have you forgot?"

He played for her her very own tune.
And she realized after long
that her heart rejoiced, tweaking her voice
she sang with him, a new love song.

"Man, there is no more left in you,
our old love is fully spent."
With that to her mate she bowed,
turned around and with Orion went.

The moral here, my happy friends
Listen to all your song!
Sanara knew not, And then she got
What she needed all along.

My love is coming here tonight
Out of the dampened cavern light,
And we will sit beneath the sky
To view the nightly birds take flight

And watch the shooting stars go by.
The daylight fades in cobalt dye.
With calming darkness, crickets sing.
I hear the sleepy birches sigh.

Above the surface, it is spring,
And here I’ll give this precious thing
So she will see, so she will know;
A handmade, brilliant, mithril ring.

It is time to let true feelings show
TolBarol, let the breezes blow
And set the paten moon aglow!
O, set her golden heart aglow!

THE GARLAND
by Lucirina Telor Vevan

The leaves they fall
as I gaze to the west.
In my hand a garland
for you my love.
The day it withers
and dark takes its place.
where are you?
where is my knight?

Where are all the warriors?
In unmarked graves.
Who will then mourn them?
No tears are shed.
Swords and spears are on the ground
of blood they're tinted red,
and so pale your visage,
my love.

I woed I'd wait for you,
the sun did shine.
Over our love that was so strong.
But now the dark has caught me
and drawn you away.
And all I have is this garland,
for you.

Night is dark and night is cold
as I think of your touch.
Of the last caress
that your lips gave.
Of the smile, that fatal day,
you gave as a farwell
and I dared not speak
of my love.

Where are all the warriors?
In unmarked graves.
Who will then mourn them?
No tears are shed.
Swords and spears are on the ground
of blood they're red
and so pale your visage
love.

Of ice it is,
your visage,
my love.

I CAN'T SLEEP
by Lucirina Telor Vevan

I can't sleep my love,
cause I recall the warmth
of your hand in mine,
when your hand is not here.

I can't sleep,
cause your smile,
still lingers
within my eyes.

I can't sleep,
cause your lips,
no longer
caress mine.

I can't sleep,
cause your voice,
is carried to me
by the night breeze.

I can't sleep,
cause the rain
falls in silence
like my tears.

I can't sleep,
because the sea
whispers your name
in ever wave.

I can't sleep,
for my patience.
I can't sleep,
for my impatience.

I can't sleep.
Because you
are so far away.

SPRING
by Lucirina Telor Vevan

Early spring eve calls upon us
for a promenade.
Injóh in the oaken tree,
slowly singing songs.
Foot steps on the soft moss
under evergreens.

Darkness dosn’t seem so deep
when you are with me.
Crickets in the newborn mist,
chirping serenades.
While we walk in silence,
your hand holding mine.

Safety, I find it in your eyes.
So warm.
Safety, I find it in your arms.
So strong.

Night wind blows slightly
trough the sleeping trees.
Whispering so many words
we don’t understand.
And a smiling full moon
bathes us with its light.

This poem is part of a series of poems called the "Summerday Cylce" of one of most famous Santharian poets, Monsonius of Marcogg. The cycle was written in order to reflect the loss of his beloved Stela from various perspectives with different interpretations, and due to this unique approach the Summerday Cycle serves as a magnificent example of the various possibilities poetry offers.

Injóh, Injóh
Sing me a tune
Sirreri, sirreri
Will I find a loved one soon?
Sit, sikot sikot sikot

Injóh, Injóh
Sing me a song
Sirreri, sirreri
Will I have to wait for long?
Sit, sikot sikot sikot

Injóh, Injóh
Sing to the moon
Sirreri, sirreri
Will he come from wood or from dune?
Sit, sikot sikot sikot

IInjóh, Injóh
Wings take to air
Sirreri, sirreri
Will he be dark or will he be fair?
Sit, sikot sikot sikot

Injóh, Injóh
Give me your word
Sirreri, sirreri
Let this little prayer be heard.
Sit, sikot sikot sikot

(This song is sung in a three-count, one-two-three, one-two-three...)

Who wouldv'e known I'd see you in spring?
Who would've known the joy your embra-ace would bring to me?

I long for the days of su-um-mer splendor,
And I pine for the autumn nights in your arms.
I'd talk with you for hours and hours,
Ensnared by your womanly kindness and charms.

Who would've thought you'd enter my world?
O, what a beauteous flag has be-en unfurled for me!

We traveled the Bolder's valleys and rivers,
And I gave you my love on the far eastern hill.
Though winter's streams have all frozen over,
My love for you is running strong still.

Who would've guessed you'd turn me away?
Who would've guessed our love would wander so far astray?

Perhaps your love is like a black serpent,
Writhing away in the soft morning dew.
Or perhaps your love is a winter-time river,
Waiting for spring to flow it anew.

Let me love you as a child loves;
Without barriers.
A love as pure as the first kiss,
the one with taste of fruits,
And newly cried tears.
As gentle as the lament of a swallow
the day it leaves the nest
to find its own way through the sky.

Let me love you as the sea loves;
Violently envolving.
A love as strong as the storms.
That can wash away your fears
and lull you to sleep in its waves.
A love so deep and so endless
as the eternal sky.

Let me love you as only I can love you;
Hiding in your arms,
warm and secure.
Let me give you my fears and joys.
Give you the blue flowers of today.
Let me confuse and understand you;
Wake up every morning watching you sleeping.
To you are my words.
My beloved one.

MAN:
"Lie down, my sweet love,
You are safe here with me.
I would not lie to you,
Come, sit on my knee!"

WOMAN:
"I'll lay down my worries,
Forget all my care,
Set down all my burdens,
And let down my hair."

MAN:
"Ah, life it is cruel,
But love it is true,
So live with me, darling,
I'll always love you."

WOMAN:
"Save your sweet promise
For later, my dear,
If I find you are lying,
You'll know Querprur's fear."

And laying her hands on
His shoulders so wide,
She kissed him most soundly:
"I've nothing to hide!"

He uncrossed his fingers,
And gave her a grin,
"Then let us be lovers -
I'm set to begin!"

(Note: This poem is also commonly used for educational
reasons in order to explain the differences between words like
lie, lay, sit, set and other commonly confused words. In fact
the poem was mainly written by Judith of Bardavos
for this very purpose.)

It seemeth that the sun now sets,
Though thine eyes see not tomorrow.
Splendor be the sun’s first rays
But I sing to thee in sorrow.
For the Nightbird’s haunting song
Hath whispered soft thy name,
And though we lay thee in the ground
In my heart thou shalt remain.

For a golden string connects our hearts:
Our spirits ne'er shalt be far apart,
And I’ll meet thee at Avá’s door
When I breathe no more.

Knowing that thou hast left this plain
With the promises I have made
Dost make the revels in my heart
Turn to a dark parade.
But from the Vindel Mountain peaks
To the Ancytharian Sea:
No matter how far apart we are
I shall love and think of thee.

For a golden string connects our hearts:
Our spirits shalt ne'er be far apart,
And I’ll meet thee at Avá’s door
When I breathe no more.

May Queprur take thee quickly.
May Ava give thee grace.
I pray for thy safe journey home,
Though far from my embrace.
I shall sail to thee in dreams
Upon the river I have cried,
Or fly to thee on wishes
Of the breezes I have sighed.

For a golden string connects our hearts:
Our spirits shalt ne'er be apart,
And I’ll meet thee at Avá’s door
When I breathe no more.

While the moon in silent night
shone upon your calm, brown eyes,
You told me tales of luck and love.
In your arms, a tired dove,
I rested, knowing safety's peace.

A light in darkness was your smile,
a word of hope your loving voice.
Both pain and laughter's paths lead to
the fire of your warming eyes,
And in that peacefulness I bask.

You took a bird with broken wings,
nurtured it with calm and love,
you listened to its broken song,
Made a place it could belong,
And there my tired wings will rest.

So here I am, a weary bird,
with naught to offer but a chant.
A heart filled full with melodies
is all this poor bird has to give,
I give you heart and soul and song.