Home of the First Men

Season of the Spring-Hunger Sparrow.

Flatlands, North of Blood-Moss’s Barrow.

What maketh our hillocks, 

those crowning massifs —

Love, 

Child.

Blanketed beneath a dancing sword.

Pass there, now.

Play. 

Remember.

In death,

we are not alone —

but gathered. 

A throng of Man

chanting Name.

The Unborns’. The Waitings’. And Livings’.

Hear Love,

Child.

It is — ‘ever,

yours.