In the black ground where the roots of the mountains
Reach for the Earthblood and cling to the rock
Is laid a foundation of stone strong and ageless:
The Cyrenian Pantheon, block upon block.

Up through the crust the stone tower rises,
The arches and colonnade extend to the sky.
A white-tipped mount in the Heart of the Vashnars
To honor the Gods of the ages gone by.

Spread 'round about in green supplication
Well tended lawns and a path of cut stone
Reflect the beauty of the monument spire,
Creating an atmosphere right to praise or atone.

Pass through the archway, enter at will
All who would visit are welcome indeed.
Fluttering torches ensconced all around
Will chase away shadows if such is your need.

In the warm yellow glow, the stone comes to life;
The Gods' carven images seem to take breath.
Each alcove is host to a masterpiece sculpture
Of those whose existence transcends even death.

A gallery of immortals around every turn,
Too many to name, you'll just have to see.
A central stair spirals up into the sky
The roof is wide open, the air crisp and free.

The view from the Pantheon's pinnacle storey
Is one that all Sapience should truly behold.
Atop the stone spire Cyrene's alpine glory
Spreads out below you in blue, white and gold.

How you climb to the top, you'll not get me to tell.
But I'll give you a hint: for service, ring the bell.


Penned by my hand on the 7th of Chronos, in the year 385 AF.