Pine
by Tylan

In the village there is a stand of white pine,
tall and proud,
unwavering,
unyielding.

It holds the promise of sunny days
in times of blistering cold,
warm balmy nights
in times of blood.

They stand like guardians,
like hope itself,
ever green,
ever tall,
holding a promise,
the promise that something will endure.

Endure,
through blistering cold,
through blood,
through gore.

Endure through war and through peace.
Endure through the lives of men, of hearts, of souls.

In the midst of the stand,
A pine withers.
The snow falls heavy upon
yellowed needles.

I stand and watch.
I watch that which once held
the promise to endure,
I watch it fall away from me,
I watch it fade.

In the village, a pine withers.

In its place, another shall grow.

Penned by my hand on the 16th of Ero, in the year 436 AF.