Little Rabbit's Glen

Strings plucked,

gentle chords played,

O’ Maponos,

son of Matrona,

you pluck at the strings of my soul,

shaping me into my future self.

Guiding me past those who have left this world,

and teaching me to listen to their songs.

You are in my heart,

o’ Great Harpist,

and your song serenades me,

filling me with my future fate.