Here Zdeña sings to the stars,
faint orbs glittering above the lake.
She sings of longing for her missing mate;
she'll sing long past his passing.
Here the qedrith flouresces red
to draw his meal to where he waits.
As long as Zdeña sings, he'll think he's safe.
This game of eat to stay alive,
to hide or be eaten in return
has ruled this galaxy that churns
beyond the constellations of your sky.
I pray that I could fly to greet you
soar on melodies of Zdeña's wings
while the qedith glowed cerise.
But mute with no tongue I cannot sing
a map to bring you to this peace.
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