You shall be my roots and
I will be your shade
though the sun burns my leaves.

You shall quench my thirst and
I will feed you fruit
though time takes my seed.

And when I'm lost and can tell you nothing of this earth,
you will give me hope.

And my voice you will always hear.
And my hand you will always have.

For I will shelter you.
And I will comfort you.
And even when we are nothing left,
not even in death,
I will remember you.

Penned by my hand on the 16th of Midsummer, in the year 99 MA.