The Chronicles of Infel

Illmathering

Over hill and under hill,

And through the meadows green,

Across the sand, across the sea,

So many things I’ve seen.

I’ve seen the forest’s winter,

Watched the woods fill up with snow,

I’ve seen the desert’s summers,

Felt its hot and cruel wind blow.

I’ve seen the field’s autumn,

Where the busy people reap

A hundred miles of golden stalks

And fill their carts with wheat.

But many years away it’s been

A long time since I’ve seen

The wonderful and flowered spring

Back in Illmathering.

The valleys fill with color,

And the pines grow tall and strong.

The eagles soar above the clouds,

The Falls sing out their song.

Such memories I seem to have

Of such a wondrous spring,

A fondness for my reveries

Of dear Illmathering.

But all these thoughts are bittersweet,

For oh, if I return,

The Spring will turn to ashes,

And Illmathering will burn.