Soren Solaren

Chink there canters in
The scrawny horse
Bought for coin and whisky

The green grass trod
Weeps for its shattered dew
As Pu'ur's light over the land
Does warmly wash

The rider, Solaren
With heart heaving
From morn's meditation
Once more does breathe as sigh
And silent pray

As eyelids close
In seeming sleep
Words of the soul
Once more he speaks
A petition he begs
That folk be understanding

Scale and skin
Similitude holds them all...

Black eyes ope
To pale morning sky
Forth he fares
With snickering steed

Dismounts at Bethany's side
To the outcast clan, holds he his hands
High he heaves his voice yet clear and says,
"Fear not, young ones. Fret not, ye of the Crescent Moon
Day is come. The light shall all dark doubts devour"