On russet-feathered wings I fly,
Soaring, spinning, to the sky.
Yet, of all the places in my reach,
There is but one I cannot touch.

Above the Emerald Road, I find,
Encased in both magic and time,
The once-gleaming crystal spires
Of the keys to my memory.

From time to time, on occasion,
Fleeting glimpses of a bastion
Of knowledge, science, and logic
Reveal themselves to my gaze.

I dream of old, familiar things,
Of crystal flesh and feathered wings.
I dream of magic, crystal sights,
Of skies and mountains late at night.

I long to know my origins,
To find and meet my long-lost kin.
Alas, the city gates are sealed
By the very people whom I seek.

My flesh and blood are gone to me,
Caught in a shimmering mystery.
To look at time-kept Hallifax
Is to look into my missing past.