The Crown of Laurel

Not woven from gold, 

Nor woven from iron, 

But woven in green. 

Everlasting, 

Holding truth.

A crown that never rusts, 

A crown that never shatters, 

Endurance of Laurel remains.

It's roots drinking from the prophecy, 

Its leaves kissed by Apollo's hands. 

Born not from greed, 

But from song, 

From vision, 

From the fire of truth that burns unseen.

The Archer chose the Laurel, 

Not a rose, 

Not oak, 

Nor rowan, 

But tree of poets, 

Of dreamers, 

The tree that bends but never breaks.

Crown of Laurel, 

Not placed on tyrants, 

But the temples of those who 

Bring light, 

Speak truth, 

Have youth, 

And sings with the sun.