A city that accepts all that you leave
But never will forgive all that you take
Is one that has a lot of loss to grieve
And one that benefits from what you make.
Your business is to beautify the dead,
Recolor pallid cheeks with pink of life,
Regrow dismembered limbs and lopped-off head
With single slice from transmutative knife.
A child with a discerning set of eyes
To Misty Forest Valley you invite.
From water her own threads shall soon arise;
You'll teach her till her aura glows as bright.
She is but one protector of the land
With bodies maimed that busy your right hand.