In the sky,
upon the clouds,
through the bleak lands,
as one of its feathers,
falls to the ground.
The grim land began cultivating,
Its first tree in almost, an eon.
The old raven’s death,
as its last crow can still be heard throughout the realm.
Ever since that day,
No tree has bloomed from the earth,
as gloriously as this one has.
Now the land has a purpose,
without the old master’s presence,
The land became weak and weary.
Now the ravens are the lord of this lands,
But only one remains,
To forever keep the land alive,
as the presence of death,
marked the raven for life,
Like light being consumed by darkness.
In the end both will come to the land,
as it has been forever told,
to new and past raven souls.