Look up, there it hangs, wheeling in the sky, a cry, a herald from
death's own spy
An evil, vile thing, a thing made to pry
A thing to force from us, the laughter of our voices, the rivers and our
trees
A thing to smash us down, to bring us to our knees
This horrid wheeling thing, ever present in the air
Attacks us when it may, attacks us when it dares
Yet we all must stand, once or twice alone, or with our homes in great
distress, all our hope forlorn
This great thing, that alway beckon, threatens, that touches our lives
in various ways and is with us all our days
Yet as you peer closer, you can see the truth, this thing it cannot
conquer you, for it has not a truth
It is in truth a Shadow, a thing that we must all abide, in our lives
and shelters, until the dawn grows nigh
For our lifes though filled with strife and anger, rage and tears, this
myriad thing shall always stay, with us all our years
This thing we live beneath, this thing we do despise, this thing that
makes us stronger, and helps us shape our lives
We do not bend unto it's will, no, for while I live under the Shadow, I
know where I am to go

Penned by my hand on the 24th of Ero, in the year 315 AF.