(This is the first in a handful of old writing pieces I’m going to share on this blog.)
White stone buildings line the cobbled streets of Kroon,
A majestic city, spires and towers litter the roads of Kroon.
A city of wonder, of beauty, and of splendor,
I spent my childhood running the streets of Kroon.
Down one main alley rests the golden temples,
with large brass doors once opened to people of Kroon.
A library once open, to scholar and to the common,
Inside sits forgotten knowledge gleamed by those of Kroon.
In a large open plaza where traders once gathered,
You can still see where bards of yore would croon.
A bouquet of people, of sights, of sounds and life,
All were welcomed in the radiant city of Kroon.
At the end of the main road sits the Palace,
Gleaming silver made it the crown gem of Kroon.
Long though I’ve left the city of grandeur,
Nary a day goes by that I don’t wish for my Kroon.
But lost to the ocean, sitting quite barren,
No sound nor soul travels the lost city of Kroon.