Many syllables ago Yearning came my way:
It slid across the desert floor, over the icy hills.
Flew against bright, iron winds and ran on legs of ease,
then dove under the babbling drops of Sunrise
and through the White Abyss.
It swam the pastures, engulfed the trees,
frightened the Birds of Paradise;
without remorse It took the feathers
from their wings and gave them colors
of eternal spring.
It forgot about long-lost melodies of a time
when Time stood still.
Yearning entered the blaze –
came out unfazed, forever unchanged.
It knew the path to my hearth,
In a herd of manes It knew my name,
And so the Yearning whispered…
Oblivious to all the rest, I heard:
Let me in.
And so I did.
From that moment on
I’ve become known as
The Wisher of Wings.