Stagnant water moveth not;
Staying still, it starts to die,
And with death, begins to rot;
In its own decay it lies.

With sudden change, as with a stone,
The shock ripples 'cross the lake;
With shifting tide a beauty's shown,
And the earth itself begins to shake.

Though this, in tune with winds of war,
The surface seems calm, seen as no threat.
But when the tremor reaches shore,
He who fears not shall feel regret.

Though violent waters often bring strife,
When they murder is when they breathe the most life.

Penned by my hand on the 9th of Lupar, in the year 396 AF.