Lying in ferns, mossy beds,
Pelt covering from toe to head,
A bubble appeared inside my mind,
And evolved to a scene I could not understand.
An old man stood in front of me,
And the wind echoed the words
That escaped from his lips,
And my ears perked up to listen.
“Whom do you call,
A person with black hair and eyes,
Naive he is, novice he is always,
A raven he encompasses,
Observant his nature.
Courage, Valor, Honor,
None he carries,
Only fear gnaws inside him,
As he goes on with his journey?”
And my heart throbs ever louder,
And I clench my fists, because only one person fits that description.
And as the word “me’ escapes my lips,
The light of confirmation is seen in those eyes.