On dawn’s lofty terrace
Quietly listening to rain
shielded, for a moment tranquil
From bustling of silverbright fane.

Spying arms of apical chaise,
Lampfires lit letters in smoke
A glass of lords, a cup of maize,
Plumes aquiline, on the desk where he wrote:

Our promise kept, its debt is paid
And the deal has passed its ambit.
He sent it winging to the dark
Consigning to fate the gambit.

Heavenly sheets were drawing still,
Matching descendent waxy tears,
Outside the spire waits patiently
Like votives in their hyaline spheres.

Then storm renewed rived the Peshwar
Reaving village, island, and sea,
Telling the dawn the shadows speak and
Unfortunately they disagreed.



Penned by my hand on the 23rd of Daedalan, in the year 808 AF.