"A wind blows out upon the leaves
And stirrs aflutter the light-starved floor;
The green-tiles wave their reaching arms,
Receiving the cool breeze alike the men;
They sigh and stopp about the fen
While thinking out forevermore
To homes they'd left; what the soldier sees,
Amongst the dinn of battle alarms.

"Much like those who came before,
Those who come after go forth and strive;
Enter the green-cloaked face alive;
While we await their turbid claims
To return as something a little more
Than we had; their words of fame,
Accredited for the sake of names;
Fall easily as their own blades maim.

"We knew, as they left, that few would come back,
Those brave young hearts to fall as prey;
Consumed and burned for gleeful fun,
Destroyed alive until but one
Or more, perhaps, return - who's to say?
The experience; that's something we all lack.

"Night falls, and its baleful wind
Rises like a chord of song, catching us about;
The leaves and ferns on the forest blend,
And conceal the shadows coming out;
Finally our attention turns anew
And we race to see those who survived.

We count amidst the tears, and see,
Hoping, hoping, among those contrived,
Thinking "They must have returned to me!"
We look and pray- but there's so few."

                              -From the writings of Azeem al Nazarin, The Felaryan Melody.