BY DR. AGONSON
Over my lands of golden grain
fed on crystal springs,
where plains of harvest
their wide fields spread,
where rivers as sure
—as bold—their deepness runs
unlike no other stream,
where I trod with naked feet,
where nights are summer nights
and all the stars, a thousand suns,
the mysteries of heaven reveal,
where men die, and live, and are born,
where my love, somewhere alone,
an empty house watches,
where my ambitious heart
in bitterness moldered,
and sought another’s crown,
where I a reflection saw,
and learned my dreadful face,
that place I am cast out,
I from a far off wilderness
descry creeping darkness.
No reapers reap;
no dancers dance.
They all in dusty mourner’s clothes,
they all into the night
—under that starry night—
mourn, weeping their King,
murdered, usurped, the corpse abused.
Penitent, I mourn with them,
for losing my brother a second time,
my heart has broken twice.
That people I betrayed,
and long ago abandoned,
that city which I cursed,
and she cursed me,
that harvest never meant for me,
a champion requires.
And I must return,
and over seas and mountains,
I must return,
into my past forsaken,
I must return,
where never I was to,
I must, return.
So I have carved a mask,
but not to hide, it’s to reveal:
Unto my home a stranger I’ll return,
for the banished is dead,
and reborn a hero will arise.
I must return.
I must return.
I must return.
Tale Told 
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