(Excerpt from 'The Storm of Souls', an 
anonymous collection of stories and poems)
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They'd met in June, 
Under blossoms rare,
While the wind whistled,
Like song in the air.

He who was loved and cherished
He who slept and dreamed
He who was wise and childlike
He who was more than he seemed.

She who reached the heavens,
She who shined with spark,
She who loved and lived and laughed,
She who slew the dark.

Wild and pretty youths were they,
Their family's shining pride,
Their minds were swift; their love was deep,
Belonging side by side.

The engagement made,
And the families proud,
Their children were happy, 
Content and avowed.

But to live is to err,
And one misplaced step,
Sent the girl tumbling,
Into unknown depth.

The boy tried to save her,
Knowing he'd fail,
And he held her gently,
As her face grew pale.

The families were shamed,
Angry and broken,
Cruel fights were exchanged,
And cruel words spoken.

And a hate was borne, 
From the truest of loves,
Like pitch-black ravens,
From floating doves.