Transcript of Poetic Mena

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The Lord of Sun patiently
Sits on his throne,
Summoning the agency
Of our wisest alone.

The war beyond rages
Unseen here now,
Though caution our sages
'It's near,' they avow

So angry is he
At his son's martial plight
That his Stern Judges flee,
Turned, lost to the Blight.

Locked now are the doors
To the cat and the mutt,
And the matters of wars
Now mere humans to cut.

'Now,' spoke the Sun,
His demeanour concerned,
'Can this war yet be won?'
But not one man has stirred.

The quiet then ages,
As no man can speak,
For the war council's sages
Saw our future too bleak.

'The truth is this war
Can never be done,
For the darkness we swore
Is now the night that will come.

Their shadows, now Empty,
Through a smoke that they raise,
Swear our blood to be plenty,
Beneath their icy gaze.

The young sage spoke true
And the Lord of Sun saw,
That in victory's lieu
We now stood at the maw.

From the throne that was gilden,
"I declare,' spoke he.
'Speak not to my children
And let my wife be.

Our sages remain
Not turned to the Blight,
And their Fires Arcane
May yet bear one last fight.

I bid you now,
O Lords of Menap,
That the vengeance we vow
We will set as our trap.'

One final march!
And so heartened were we
That our land we would parch,
That our people be free.