Pitter-patter, pitter-patter,
The wayward magpie chatters.
She rides upon the stalwart air,
Free to be herself, forsaking care.

How she shines in her own way
Fighting against the fearsome fray!
All the shadows of the world
Are hers to befriend or unfurl.

And yet I wonder in the deep,
Is she happy? Does she sleep?
Do all the tremblings of the earth
Bring her restless mind some mirth?

A fresh set of boots to set her jumping,
A clean wheel of cheese to get her bumping.
Yet what fractured creature lives in her?
A hidden nature I can but infer.

And I, from my quiet coast,
Whisper what I need most:
"Inspire me, give me light,"
As she battles through the night.

[A horribly sketched doodle of a bird is on the bottom-right corner with little starry scratches above its head and its eyes are crossed out.]
Penned by my hand on the 9th of Valnuary, in the year 988 AF.