Between the evergreens,

are sun-dappled, leaf-strewn paths.

Dancing across the leaves is a fawn's shadow,

curious of travelers from outside.

He follows them for a while

and leaps up to the branch of an old pine tree,

making it rustle.

Travelers stop to listen

but hear no sound until

the fawn takes out his flute,

and plays an old tune from legends and tales.

It was a night,

alight in the cosmos.

It was where the fire,

from Autumn Festival,

reddened the faces of many.

It was under this pine,

blood pooled in sunlit paths.

It was within this wood,

that weary souls walked.

Ruthless swords and rundown shields,

released the anger,

of the Battle of Reva.

The fawn, through tears, let the old song flow

into stream beds and through the everglades,

and over the boulders left by giants,

and across the wide-open spring-lush fields

tickling the ears of every traveler,

who wander into the evergreens

and sun-dappled, leaf-strewn paths.

The mournful tug of the flute,

makes them lose their way in a memory

filled with sorrow, hatred, and blood,

filled with moments one would not want to relive.

Yet the memories must stay alive,

in song, melody, or just a hint of a whisper—

the memories of Reva...