Chapter Text
Cobble and rubble, mountainside and valley,
Ever crackling or sighing underfoot,
Twinkling river or shade in the alley,
Always far too much to witness to stay put.
Emerald oceans of trees along the glen,
Rolling forests of froth upon the water,
Sun's fiery kisses on the skin and then
Sweet relief of Rain like ink upon blotter.
As songs and tales of yore us so often told
Through flowery verses or rather stern prose,
Home is not where to find such treasures untold.
Adventure calls not to whom renounce meadows
For the feathery caress of a warm quilt;
It comes to those who fear not the looming dark
And would embark on a journey rid of guilt,
Forsaking a soft mattress for a tree bark.
It is for whom minds neither ache in the legs
Nor the constant perspiration on their brow;
With many fruitful dreams now hatched from their eggs
To dread and despair unwilling to bow.
Naturally, there are those who'd rather have stayed,
Coddled by a home and life so familiar,
Never fathoming to touch the glowing blade
Garden and hearth to their life as sole pillar.
Tears, despite being dried, linger on their cheeks,
Wounds once healed open anew, excruciate,
The mind retains the lava and forgets the creeks,
Agony and sorrow as its only fate.
For the worthy ones whose bones deserve to rest,
Whose souls precious respite so direly crave,
There is one silver ship bound to take them West,
And the glorious way to a new journey pave.