Letter To Manebourne Poem by Mason Maestro

My countrymen and joy;

In the mortal shadows of service oh glory of old, thine spirit rests with thee. We hold camp in strange lands, laying retribution on the enemy’s doorstep. Beloved brethren, any concern of thee would be of no avail, wherof ye should resign it under thy feet. In heavens’ defiance mustering with this league, a prevailing number in us moveth forward in fit sound, learned not by thy enemy and without suspect or fear. This hour we rest in reach of Damascus, her strife o’er thy mournful plague of unwanted, casts her soul into depths of darkness. In excellence without cease wherewith in divide on two sides, fate with thy merciful God shall employ heaviest plight with mask of guise on her sun setting side. Oh starry front on her blind eye, we hasten to siege her sun rising side in glorious stoop of her regal head in befitting blood. Thus my former sufferings otherwhere are found, this instructed act wherein thine faith rests shall fulfill Christ’s sovereign will. In this be consumed with gladness, doth give ease thou fiery essence and distill no hapless tear, thine presence soon will dwell again among thee in time. The frail dust of glory in absence whilst be blown away with thy winds of triumph in the divinely satisfied hour.

In the throngs of allied knights, yours- Magnus of Riddoch