Be quiet now, thou servant bold;
We've known for long what thou've been told.
The shamans have our patience tried -
The fog has thinned; the bog is dried.
They'll burn the land, its riches reave,
But ere they reach us we will leave.
Such fools they are, and not to fear -
We'll send thee safely, faithful seer.
We are no local spirits here;
We reach the worlds both far and near,
To warm and cool most living hearts,
To shape them with our tender arts.
No longer here will power show,
But worlds no less our struggle know.
And even if in shadow hides,
Our work returns like quiet tides.
Were we to fight, it would be grand,
Desires stirred like fires fanned -
No shaman could resist her sight,
Its searing and transforming light;
Nor any turn my firm resolve
In which they'd find their selves dissolve.
But such is not our power's goal -
Each loves the other, thus made whole.
Our war of love no one can use -
We war to show such threat a ruse:
No one can bind beloved will -
Since we are loved, thus free are still.
Our names the shamans soon will seek
And summon but imposters weak.
So let them roam throughout the fen;
They shan't disturb our work again.
In times of war, we cannot share
What words of warring cannot bear;
Although in answer given nought,
Thou knows us well, and as thou ought.
Fear not for us nor for thy life,
For thou and we shall last the strife.
Go now to row first north, then west,
And thither find both friends and rest.
27-Nov-2016 19:32:53
- Last edited on
27-Nov-2016 22:29:50
by
AttilaSquare
