With eyes I couldn't see
what my heart was trying to show me

I reached for the moon and fell from the sky
Lie awake at night and ask myself why
Die every morning when I wake and cry

Too beautiful to be real Perfection given form
I was felled before her A tree struck in a storm


Penned by my hand on Kinsday, the 1st of Niuran, in the year 467 MA.