Cornelius had holed himself up in his study,
Reading useless books, nursing an injured arm.
He'd obtained a spearhead to the bicep and now,
Turning a page took a dozen seconds,
Countless moments he'd see repaid,
Shaken loose from blue upon gloves,
Clutching gold cages keeping innocent blue,
From knowing the truth.
It was the most he could do to contribute,
His skills were taken from him presently,
Pain forced relent when pride refused to back down.
Past war rage kept his blood boiling,
From a mason's window he saw Sharin's legacy,
Conversing and lifting sodden spirits,
Bringing dry to the drowned,
Mirth to the melancholy.