Dry leaves on the summer breeze
turned brown before their fall
hum dirges for the upturned roots
before the storm cloud wall

Branches lay in somber piles
the deluge in the earth
a lonely cry o'er shattered eggs
the mother mourning dove

But muggy air is wet with life
a wash of green must flow
from the sun to drown the soil
where steadfast seeds shall grow.

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Daedalan, in the year 573 AF.