Though history may forget her kind,
Each life she's touched will soon remind,
The people of a thousand lands,
Of all the work done by her hands.

Through magick that her soul has spun,
Each mind's defence has been undone,
The beating of a thousand hearts,
Still call for her when she departs.

Though truth and love have been her kin,
Each breath gives her recourse to sin,
The secrets of a thousand lives,
Consumed in all that she contrives.

Through corridors of time and space,
Each dream she has will leave a trace,
The sketches of a thousand hands,
Will share what no one understands.

Though years fade into shadows deep,
Each memory her mind will keep,
The feelings of a thousand hearts,
Retained in all their broken parts.