These stones, once enchanted, now leave no trace
of a distant magic in a foreign tongue -
just dream-prints left to carve this place.
A stranger breed has now begun
and left its tracks amidst this space,
the souls left blinking without a sun.
History spared time's rude grace.
We leave our prayers among the bones.
Bittersweet and green,
simple in its mien,
Potent bloom and sheen,
pressed on lips so clean,
Poison felt so keen
hangs her life between.
Now let winter's spell
seek out the newly hung moon
and transform the sky.