Wind through the treetops
Breeze through my hair
Drying the tears on my face

Dawn slowly rising
First morning rays
My nightly pain they erase

Visions of beauty
Fleeting nearby
Seen from the edge of my eye

I sit here wondering
Whiling my time
Out where the willows cry


Penned by my hand on the 8th of Khepary, in the year 154 MA.