Two objects lying in a field; a plowshare and a sword.
“Which of these gifts will they select?” pondered Mazda the Lord.
Two brothers, sons of Adam both, were passing by that way.
They spied the glittering artifacts that waited in the clay.
Hevel saw the plowshare would be great for planting seed in sod.
Qayin, the sword blade in his hand, looked at his brother odd.
Hevel was a Sheppard who minded Rams and Ewes.
Qayin grew crops and farmed the land, the only life he knew.
For Hevel to possess that gift did not sit well with Qayin
In a jealous rage he used the sword and thus Hevel was slain.
Qayin could not face his mother’s eyes, with shame he bore his sin.
Of his free will he’d swung the blade that did his brother in.
Qayin buried Hevel in that field to keep wild dogs away.
Then with both glittering gifts in hand, Qayin wandered far away.
In time Man would perfect the objects first found in that field.
The weapon would proliferate, evolve from Bronze to steel.
The tears of Mother Eve still flow throughout recorded time
because we are the sons of Qayin and profit from his crime.

The gentle breeze caress me,
As I stare at the skies by the sea,
The leaves are falling slowly,
And the birds sing softly for free,
When your death came before me,
The universe mourned you for me,
For I lived too long somewhere magical,
A place of you and me,
Now life devoid you is surely hevel,
That is what they don't want me to see.

They warned me beforehand,
Magic never last,
When you find out how the trick is done,
And so the magic is gone.

The trick to her magic,
was her being alive.