The Wave Murmured My Name

The silent forest held its breath

As Zadjal slowly walked

And armed with quiver, knife and bow

After his pray he stalked.

The hunter shone with force as does

A young man in his prime,

Proud as an ancient hero from

An old forgotten rhyme.

Of twenty springs he was, though he

Despised both wine and feasts

And in contempt of company

Lived lonely ‘mong the beasts:

Retired inside his woods he led

His life as do the beasts.

Then suddenly the undergrowth

Did rustle from his right

And before his astonished eyes

Revealed a charming sight.

A graceful doe as white as dove

Stepped onwards slowly and meek

She wore a golden tiara and had

Rose daintily colored cheek.

The she-fawn stopped in front of him

And these words uttered she:

“My lad, ahead: for thee they wait

To cross the virgin sea;

My lad, the land awaits for you

That lies beyond the sea.”

“My doe” sighed he “who waits for me?

Whence comes the call you bore?”

But no answer came: the fawn had fled.

He moved his steps ashore.