Who would have known

That this hand-sized Realm

Could hold a perpetual Storm,

Raging in a foul day,

A soul-warming Sunshine,

Bathing all in a blissful way,

And a reason-purging Fire,

Burning through the serene Forest,

A bone-chilling Drizzle from the blazing Sky,

Reviving the charred Fortress.

Rain, my child, rain.

Let those Spruce grow

From the carnal Dirt

To the ethereal Heaven.

An impassable Path

For the reckless Wanderers.