Stigandir isn't actually eloquent enough or even remotely the right kind of person to actually write something like this, but I feel it's a very good way to summarize some of his feelings.
I remember yet,
When you were but one summer old,
And how you would laugh and play,
Curious, you were, and oh so bold,
So joyous every day,
And I remember again,
In your second summer,
How you spoke with beast and trees,
You dressed in cloth like chilling mummer,
And I did laugh until I fell to my knees,
But now, alas,
Twice that time has come and gone,
Since I last laid eyes upon you,
And I fear you have become a pawn,
That hates me as your mother would have you do,
I no longer know my only son,
All that is left to me is memory,
I can only guess what's become of my boy,
Who laughed and played so tenderly,
Who was my life's most greatest joy,
