From morn to night, there I go
To stand and watch few people;
Who comes and go like a dream,
In the little town where I dwell.
Beside the fire that burns merrily
I study the silent little waterfalls,
As the fire tells it’s tales of yore.
In this little town of few activity;
Where the wind blows like a flute,
My memories were born at last.
There I stand in the company of a pole,
Hanged from its hands, flags of sort.
Together we watch soulless bodies;
Hurrying off to their quests, left and right.
From time to time I see them muse,
While I too stand in wait for my mails;
Anonymous gifts with hollow words.
Often I wonder of the large tower,
Beyond the merchant’s tent stands;
Shrouded by haze it peeks to the sky.
My home amongst a few, where I rest,
And on the eventide get accompanied;
Seira and Riv, together there and back we go.
Along our journeys I come to reminisce,
Friends who came but left too soon,
Shaping my stories like poets;
They played with words like masters.
But now all I can do is wonder,
Of the unknown lives they live.
When time to join the unknown comes,
I offer you, those who remain;
Only voiceless words of prayer.