The day was inclement - like death
looming in a cordon,
despair being ceaseless to one’s soul.

Within a crowd of wilting willows -
A little thing she was - she wept;
tenebrosity caressing her,
O daughter of the dark! Ashes billow
toward you now; the shadow follows you
wherever you go - you must be hallowed.

The dirges still whistle - still whisper in
the wind; ...