Three Songs for Cyrene

By: Kiash Posted on: November 30, 2010

Author's note: Cyrene is my home and all the city is very dear to me, but three places are particularly close to my heart: the Dancing Boar, where Ty Beirdd holds its annual New Year's concert; the Reading Nook, where I have spent countless hours reading and studying and where I passed my audition into my House; and the Garden of the Arts, whose importance to a bard should need little explanation, for it is a place touched by the Great Bard Himself.

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Song for the Dancing Boar:

Every novice gets a boar tattoo;

There are boars in the Black Forest, too.

And of course, there's the mightiest Boar of all--

The Boar of the Logos, in far Saoghal.

But there's one boar that this list leaves out,

And a rare one, too, without a doubt--

For I think there is very little chance

That you'll find another boar that can dance!

If you don't believe such a thing can be,

Then come to Cyrene, and you'll see:

At each New Year, on Ruminic Street,

The Dancing Boar gets on its feet.

The harps and lutes will start to play,

Dancers whirl, and poets have their say.

Entertainment, good food, and friends all around--

A better combination, I've never found.

So come and watch, and have a drink

And I promise you that if you think

That boars can't dance, you'll soon see you're wrong

In Cyrene, when bells ring a New Year's song!

Quatern for the Reading Nook:

The chill of Cyrene's winter days

By cider sweet is kept at bay,

And blackbird pie, and Sen Cha tea;

One hardly needs more luxury.

The crackling fire drives away

The chill of Cyrene's winter days,

So bring a friend or bring a book

And find a seat beside the brook.

In solitude or company,

Few places are more fine to be;

The chill of Cyrene's winter days

Outside these cozy walls shall stay.

So while Melodia sells her wares,

Relax, sit back, forget your cares,

And let hot cider chase away

The chill of Cyrene's winter days.

Sonnet for the Garden of the Arts:

A crumbling archway stands beneath the trees,

Where yellow roses glow with light of dawn;

It stands in silent, peaceful memory,

An echo of a garden now long gone.

A broken crystal ball held in her hand,

Among the leaves a fallen statue rests,

Reminding us, not even cities stand

Forever 'gainst Lord Aeon's harshest tests.

But though the past is gone, today is new,

And crystal fountains sing a soft sweet song,

To tell us that, though we may mourn what's through,

New joys and hopes can always come along.

And as this lesson sees me through my days,

To Lord Scarlatti, I shall e'er give praise.