Lyriel

They arrived at home, the land
where they were born
The woods are all away,
around them loneliness
The age of trees was older
than their roots
The puddle to his right,
that was their little fresh brook
And he remember, the fathertree
Where he were born and where he felt free
In his protection he ever found
The symmetry of disfiguration
And I, I think of you and mean:
So nice was the time
That time could be so long,
Oh I don't know if you're