Ruin has fallen, the king is dead
A blight upon the reign of crowns
Birds in murmurations vast
Haunt the castle's glories past
Chants of blood in battles shed
Reverberate among the towns.
Now the valor is silent, hushed
And the dark pools are icy still
A sanguine bitter sunshine glows
Like the snipped thorns of a rose
The life of the noble ruler crushed
In the cruel winter chill.
From crimson lands, to valley south
The lord had conquered, bold
To meadows brimm'd with daffodils
And craggy rugged red foothills
From source of river till their mouth
All beneath his fold.
Yet his children live on, left behind
In his wintry castle, grand yet dour
Their telltale little footprints go
Like rabbit steps upon the snow
Trailing with the cobblestones lined
Ending at the royal tower.
I see them walking, in the yard
Beneath an ominous evening bell
Winter-bud faces, cherry vinous red
Warm boots into fresh snow tread
Are these little scions scarred
By loss of their father in winter spell?
Their bodies in coats are wan, frail
And as small as the falling flakes
As fragile as a twirling yellowed leaf
In the silent simmering burning grief
That boils amidst the frigid hail
When death a dear life takes.
The silence hangs above in grey
Like a soundless boundless sea
The light fades & a quiescent moon
Will see the bloom of a crocus soon
Where the king's noble soul will stay
Unaware of the land's austerity.
The littlest boy trips and falls in the snow
And when he turns his face to see
Upon the snowy mournful land
A ghost of a smile, a helping hand
His brother is there, his face aglow
Strong among the misery.
These children each bear a tiny fire
Burning like to smelt an iron rod
They keep it harboured in their souls
And in times even colder than poles
Ardor keeps them trudging, none shall tire
Even against breath of a vengeful god.
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