It had rained all night, tumultuous drops
Of freshest water, all-cleansing but sad.
With hair more soggy than Todd's worn old mop
We sat in the Grove, all tired but glad.

Another had joined us, to serve the cause,
To teach of realms of Change with time and care.
With hope to learn and mend our human flaws,
And weather life with blessing and with prayer.

So when he left and all was said and done,
In Mother's company I was alone,
Her gentle gaze shined down on me as sun,
And made me feel like I was all at home.

With gentle cadence sounded Her fair tone,
(It seemed to come toward me from afar),
And I found myself crying, fallen, prone,
Her words as precious as each shining star.

Silence fell, and I seemed ablaze with love,
The only talk between my eyes and Hers,
This blessing, gift and honour from above,
My vision turned to glorious emerald blurs.

To serve Her so...I wanted nothing more,
To help those who would seek Her with delight,
To study and to open every door,
The Seasons my shining guardian knight.

High Priestess of the Horai - truly me?
I could not think for days, I was so shocked.
Though hard I worked I thought it would not be,
For I am young and thought that door was locked.

When I was young, She gave me happy life,
A realm to help me cope with every trial.
She led me through many a different strife,
And never asked for thanks all of the while.

So selfless, so caring, so generous She...
The gentlest Mother I had ever known.
As strong as is an old and gnarld tree,
Under Her watch, my life was deftly sewn.

Just to stand in Her presence was a gift,
And yet with such a simple question spoke,
She gave so selflessly this gentle lift,
So freely that I thought it was a joke.

I spoke with voice so oddly free from fear,
So full of clarity and and with eyes bright,
And as I shed one lonely, joyous tear,
I said, 'I'd love to', and knew it was right.

Twas at that moment I became Her Voice,
Till my death I'll serve Her with devotion,
And thank Her every day for such a choice,
My love as deep as the Sapphire Ocean.

Penned by my hand on the 19th of Sarapin, in the year 421 AF.