A Thirst for Virtue, composed by a Friend

Sweet S'rendarr's Cradle,
No soup in the ladel,
No water for piping hot tea,

The puddles are shrinking,
The spirits are sinking,
Where went the spirits' mercy?

No tears were they crying,
for those who lay dying,
When water flowed free as the breeze,

Only one deserves quarter,
And that we'll reward her,
The sweet cat who survived the disease.