Swept with stone stillness,
Aray prowls amongst the swirls.
Six stand impassive.

Silent save Aray,
the Shrine is ever the same,
leaf and twig taken
to limit life. The wind may
blow, but its breath is in vain.

There a placid bench
awaits, facing north. Deshi,
deep in thought, take rest
to contemplate the Tiger,
their destiny not yet dealt.

A black silhouette,
leaping with loud captive roar,
strikes the sandal-shod
Kohai. Soles tread a dirt road,
the humble path to glory.

Aray of Ashura
growls, lips rippling his muzzle,
and in the gruesome
gleam of blood-bound teeth, there lunge
the Sensei. Matsuhama smiles.

Six stand impassive
Achaea awaits our rise -
Ambition hides in stillness.

Penned by my hand on the 9th of Valnuary, in the year 381 AF.