Beneath the moss, beneath the clay,
In silence cold, you rest away.
No cradle rocked, no lullaby,
Just shadowed grief
and a mother’s cry.
Born in pain, with hair like night,
A fragile form, too soon took flight.
The twist of fate’s cruel hand,
Left you dust upon this land.
Forgotten stone, no flowers there,
Only whispers haunt the air.
Yet in the night, I hear her weep,
A love too deep for death to keep.
And in my dreams, I see your face,
A fleeting wisp, a ghostly grace.
A sister lost, yet not alone,
For sorrow sings where love has grown.
LA