In the Achaean moonlight,
in the deep forests of Sapience,
walks a figure,
through the mists,
within his heart,
there is a fire,
growing in this midnight hour,
his head is turned high,
looking toward the sky,
the stars are reflected in his green eyes,
his soul is drawn,
to the ground,
for within nature he has found,
the truth of life,
free from the false strife,
of the cities of carved stone,
for he has known,
all along,
nature is the way to his peace.

Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Sarapin, in the year 323 AF.