The Ballad of Serenity
A nightingale in a birch nearby,
sang a song that made her cry.
"Another note and I shall die!"
Her threat was met with no reply.
And so she rested by the stream,
and heard the crickets softly dream.
She watched the cattails kiss the stars,
believing heaven not so far.
"And here is where I shall be free,"
whispered fair Serenity.
The orphaned child, the strange young girl
born into an ancient world.
No elegance or skill had she
but the ballad, of Serenity.
She was cursed with just one song:
a ballad haunting, soft and long.
The words were never hers to hear,
but danced always beyond her ear.
On harp, flute, lyre she wiled away,
the notes that only she could play.
Yet she grew tried of just one song
and ran away before too long,
into a wood with stream of gold
where rumored lived the bards of old.
She found the caves of deepest blue
and told them, "I have searched for you."
Serenity the bards admired.
They gave to her the sacred lyre,
which bound her soul between its strings,
to find th