A Lament for Kyra
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Mother of my dreams, teacher from old days
Kyra my mother, will you sleep for as
Long as the Green Lady?
Will your name be anaethma to my family
Just as Her name is to the Spirits who
Once were Scarlatti's?

I remember you still, my shield and guard
Against the world that I tried so hard
In yet lost in my youthful attempts to
Become someone, something that meant not
Nothing to me, but had a meaning for me
I wish you could see me now!

When I wished solace, you gave it to me,
When I wished company, company you were
Yes indeed, mother of few words but the words
You used, well thought and meaningful, never
Without hope , always uplifting. Perhaps one
Day we shall meet again?

I, your son, have truly grown up now, no
Longer the lost sentinel I once was, haughty
In words and deeds. I am a soldier, minister
With responsibility on my shoulder and I
Try to teach young ones the lessons you once
Taught to me...

My words do you injustice, what we had then
Was special and I will treasure our time
Together in my heart always.

But the years go by and hope grows dimmer
I write this to you now, lest I forget.

Your son,

Jamethiel Windsong

Penned by my hand on the 11th of Ero, in the year 395 AF.