Across the land,

Along the breeze,

Take a ship

Across the sea,

And at the end

Of the known world,

There lies a land,

Of ancient lore,

Lost to many,

In thoughts and dreams,

Yet against the sun

It glimmers still.


The land which came first,

And will vanish last,

Its beauty rare,

Captivated in frozen time.

The people there,

Travel naught,

Yet people here,

Yearn to travel there.


Its terrain is covered,

By woods and forests,

Some emerald,

Others saffron,

Yet more beryl,

Another black,

But most dominate to all,

Is the ever present glow,

Created by its woods of white.


The mountains there,

Reach to the sky,

Touching the very borders

Assigned to heaven.

They sparkle in the sun,

Glitter with the moon,

And if at the summit,

Of the mountains of pearl,

It is rumored,

One can catch a star,

And hold it in their hand.


From these peaks

A river forms,

Its sapphire waters

Spilling over the edge,

Creating a majestic fall of perfection,

Feeding a snaking river of gold,

That travels across the land,

And through the woods,

Until it reaches

The vast silver ocean.


Of all the kingdoms ever known,

It is the greatest,

The utter perfection of all creation.

Though some do argue

That Colaenda holds true,

Or even the heart of the Mire

Could win.

But those who make the claim,

Have never seen this land,

Painted with every color ever known,

For this land,

Though fading slowly,

Is the paradise of all that live,

-And even some who die-

It is Xaretha.