When the banners rise and criers cry,
and the youth is called away,
when soldiers come by writ with sword,
farm tools we forge to fray.

To tithe for blood, esteem, and honor,
for merit, dictum, press thee onward!
To hold fast sons, to safeguard daughters,
fields fallowed, gone our farrow, off to line our travel coffers.

When Mistress leaves to tend the many,
voice as wind beneath Her sings - Exultation drive thee onward!
Blessed Nightmare! Flying forward! Take your place in ebon sky.
Firmament bound wings penumbral, such an aura you conveyed!

In darkened nook twas lain in cotton, curled in dusty corner there,
bereft yet still, of present thinking, enveloped in a manger shawl,
a kitten sleeps, a season hence, from duty's unheard eager call.
In all the world, a single field, a set of hands, a dulcet murmer.
A Hero falls, a people mourn, and torn the silken sleep is over.

No more comes the Mistress mine,
the candle wicks consumpt through prayer.
The alcove, its umber done in far off days,
creaks hymn by stained gorge hewn of lumber.
Stones when trodden, echo dirges they remember,
of bittered fate, and dreams Divine.

We went from there alone and many, all earlier than I. Bore names begotten in your care, to carry and to keep us near. Biding ides till coming conflict when we'll bear a standard dear. We share our prayers on wind unheeded, to barns unstirring, to empty fields. There is a pain in left behind. In not-there-yets and almost-was. When martyrs fall and vanguards charge, we task the homesteads the clarion call. As long as breath I draw within me, dreams are dreamt and left unwritten, You will go from here here-after, ever onwards, Unforgotten.



No hand ever pet gentler than Yours. I will miss watching You wake up while I sat curled up in the alcove. I miss home.



- Her Cat.

Penned by my hand on Closday, the 22nd of Dharos, in the year 5 AC.