Once upon a time,
it seemed so long ago,
yet not so long,
a guy landed in a grove,
urged by a vision.

Confused, he explained.
He had a vision,
he needed to talk,
a friendship bloosmed,
a love soared.

To asper and beyond,
they talked,
him showing her his passion,
the wilds,
the lands not touched
by mortal hands,
The Morgun, wild and dangerous,
the plains, the hills.

And in Torston,
he gave his shirt
to keep a gal warm,
and in that simple gesture
he also gave his heart.

Together,
hand in hand,
they grew,
and still in this day,
in these time of troubles,
he found solace in her embrace.

Nothing else matters,
but her,
he often said,
when the wilds are aflame,
when they are darkened,
he can turn to her
and find strength
to do what must be done.

So this is a story of a guy
still adoring his beloved,
from afar or near,
always to be hers,
and saying in the darkness
and in the light,
love me and
she whsipers back,
I do



Yours, Wylliam


Penned by my hand on the 5th of Niuran, in the year 207 MA.