I did not know my time would pass
away so unexpectedly, nor how like
my home I'd find myself without will,
nor how my blood and bones would all
riot against the claret order of this
ending's sanguine, growing things.

There are far too many things
that have taken their cruel pass
at me and my fledgling life - this
eking out of newer moments - like
how I have lost, with time, almost all
of my past security to new will,

or the uncertainty of how this rebirth will
affect me at length, how these things
that I must pass through my mouth, all
of these bold words - what shall come to pass?
And if this new blood is too unalike
the old? What can I make of this?

But all the good born of this -
as flowers bloom from winter will -
this change makes "was" and "can be" alike.
The new blood pulses in all things,
the same as the bruises come to pass.
The cruelties may come swift, come all

swinging in like whirling swords, all
ready to behead a doubtful year. This
is true now as it was then. But pass
will the edge with the thaw; dance will
the stars with the turn. In all things
the flame begets new blood. And like

the blooming in new green, like
the revolution of rings, this all
shall pass into a new vault; things
will riot and redouble, eke and ebb. This
is true now and so it forever will
be. These words my mouth can easily pass:

all things take from me like this,
so take one thing from this I will -
like all things, this will pass.

Penned by my hand on the 8th of Glacian, in the year 992 AF.