“My wintry tomb”, he’d scoffed
An icy grave in the midst of the woods
In it, now, he lies
Forsaken
Where no man will ever see
With no emotion,
His spirit cracks to dust
A body with no animation
As a pen writes a eulogy,
His elegy, he sings aloud
When he laid himself into the snow
The vision came in a tongue unknown
Stricken down, under the moon
His eyes turned towards the gold in the sky
But revelations never came
Only snow was to see the ancient ritual
“My wintry tomb”, he sings
A lonely choir from the roots of the trees
Crawling amidst the rotwood and worms
His prayers reach nothing but cold, black earth
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