What a quandary this is, finding myself here
Watching, waiting, hoping you'd appear
My hand was never shaped for the loom
Nor to tapestries woven midst a darkened room

No, to play in bright, sunlit revels was I made
Or to sweet seductions in some nearby shade
No fainting maiden I, my lost lover to mourn
Fellows I had aplenty, bearing hoof and horn.

Yet still, in some quiet moments breached
It seems to me, as though your voice would reach
Mine ear, and resonate with that familiar timbre
And remind me of other moments far more tender

Than these callow louts could ever employ
Seeking me, but to gain a single night's joy.
Of these shallow revels their pleasures leeched
When 'tis never my affections they would breech

Whilst I seek some passions with deeper reach
Than foolish men such these would ever know.
With more depth and breadth than they dare go
Only I, with my memory stained, would endeavor

To remember another satyr far more clever .
Able to leave his mark that time could not weather
Nor wash away, with the brine of salty tears
His portrait burned upon my heart, familiar and dear

That when a deep voice does catch mine ear
Or I spy a dark head within a crowd nearby
I should turn and look, and cry welcome,
Only by my memories am I so undone.

Penned by my hand on the 23rd of Mayan, in the year 393 AF.