~~*~~

Eyes may close amid a grey haze, dappled

With crimson or obsidian, but the

Waking bears no taint of death or pain.  She

Watches each soul and guides them to a bed,

Soft and white with peace, to be soul-healed there,

The Lady of this green land, whose patient

Touch eases even those whose days were spent

In reckless battle, endless strife and war.

No hint in Her fair land, where all that grows

Is lush and tall, and all the water cool

And pure.  Trouble can not touch them here, in

The verdant realm, where lifetimes, stories show

In the bright reflections of each blue pool,

Where lies the beauty of Naduralin.

~~*~~