In Silvermoon, during a peaceful evening, a humble, patriotically-dressed magister, accompanied by a tauren matron, strolled their way through the city, putting up rather odd thalassian poems for the commonfolk to enjoy. By benches, lamp-posts, and popular areas, one might enjoy a quick read.
Silvermoon, a shining star,
From the dusk-clad row, to the dawning bazaar.
Conflict, strife, all things of the past,
For now, The Horde has fought it’s last.
Peace, blue skies, and prosperity,
Surely cannot shroud the eyes, which blurs out clarity.
The proud sin’dorei, standing taller than ever,
Perhaps now, will only see the clear sky and what’s above the weather.
For at the feet of this proud nation, there stands a noble story,
where a great king, fought until his last moment of glory,
And a prince who ignited the skies of blue,
A color which fills, these sights of our view.
Silvermoon, once a shining star,
From the dusk-clad row, to the dawning bazaar,
For the sun must set, and reveal the umbral
Sightings will tell you, where even the loyal will combat the trouble. ⋆