When oaths are cut, the air turns strange,
and unseen chains weigh all the more;
for what slips loose through vow and change -
may bind the spirit to its core.

Let green things fade. Let bright things fall.
Let autumn strip the branch down bare.
Not every bond was truth at all,
nor every hearth worth keeping there.

So break the word that broke on thee.
Let brittle laws go down in flame.
The truest threads none ever see -
still bind the heart without a name.

And if thou bleed, then bleed in sight.
Do not make solitude thy shrine.
For wounds borne mute grow teeth by night -
but shared, they learn a clever line.

Take up thy reins. Let falsehood sever.
Let ruined fields be left behind.
An oath may fail; the soul does never -
walk wholly sundered from its kind.

Penned by my hand on Quensday, the 18th of Slyphian, in the year 18 AC.