He was a singer of songs and a teller of tales, a connoisseur of roads and a follower of trails. He dabbled in magic although he didn't know he did so for his knowledge of the art was inborn, never studied nor even read. It came as naturally to him as riding his horse and flowed as freely as his thoughts. He was a lover of books and a juggler of views, always seeing something different in the repetitious details of life. For him every cloud had a silver lining and every rainbow ended in a pot of gold and because of this he was always finding the gold and silver of life and so was rich beyond compare. He had only one sadness. He felt incomplete. He was missing the woman who could share his life. He knew he'd know her when he found her, but where could she be? He'd traveled many roads looking for her but to no avail and now as he felt age creep up on him, he felt a wisp of fear enter his mind. What if she didn't exist? Or worse yet, what if she existed and he never found her. A sob caught in his throat and because he only k new one thing to do with things caught in his throat he sang it out. This song was so different from any he'd sung before that his horse turned his head to look at our knight.
The birds took this sad song and sang variations on it. So around the world it flew until it met its object.