Awake, I curse the sun, the morning lark
Too early, or too late it has begun
Yet here, I find myself face to face
My friend, whom tragic fate

No bard could sing her ills away
Nor priest could pray the ails to lay
She tried all tonics, sip elixirs
Yet nothing seem to quite fix her

I sit next to her bed, all bleary eyed
And watch as she smiles at small things
Flowers not wilted, world still tilted
Sheets warm and soft, her heart held aloft

And it dawned on me, like the sun upon the sea
Here I sat, happy, healthy, loved, and whole
Selfish and ungrateful, arrogant and disgraceful
Feeling sick of the world, of the conflicts and wars

When I am quite lucky, to know the sun will rise
And I will see it for many months, years to come
Yet my friend, she will not know if this is the last
Before she walks to Death's halls for the rest of eternity

Penned by my hand on the 5th of Scarlatan, in the year 645 AF.