Ruby red plumage,
appreciated beauty -- but
feathers soon ruffled
and away
she
flew.
Red
crane
gone.
New
moon
darkness
barely shone.
Reeds grew long,
carp thrived, the threat
forgotten. Darkness swept the
lake and Ignatius cried out loud.
Oh rarest beauty to grace these
lands, we fear you cannot return.
But maybe you had a secret nest,
allowing us to continue
our quest.
New-born
crane
arise
and
be
ours.
Feed
here
and
grow
with
the
moon.
The ornithologist
wants
you.


Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Miraman, in the year 380 AF.