Darhion rode out with eyes of sea,
to see the world as it could be.
He found the ninth wave, a dew-gemmed brow,
whispers deep of forgotten vows.
He found the fay mound, a dark-papped breast,
wonders down there--ancestral best.
He found the haunt of dwarves and fair elves,
digging in caves, singing in wells.
Darhion rode into other realms,
the trees his ladder, a star his helm,
No more to wander ruins ash-cold
but join the Tales of ageless old.
Lords and labours there cannot abide,
but Myth took Darhion in stride.
He saw the world as it could be
and joined the Host of Good Faery.
