Silent are the bellkeepers
who look down on the land.
Knights that kneel in reverence
bloodlet into sand.
Empty are the inkwells of
each poet, scribe, and mage;
Motionless is every string,
as each lute goes unplayed.
Pious are the godless now,
and petty is the priest;
But still we light a candle.
Pray before a feast.
Endlessness in memory,
A breath held for a thief;
Seasons are always stealing,
the color from our leaf.
Adorn your purple livery,
soak every fur in tears;
No winter can take from us
The love of warmer years.