Lurkin out

Bastion

For the red shoon of the Shee,
For the falling o’ the leaf,
For the wind among the reeds,
My grief.

For the sorrow of the sea,
For the song’s unquickened seeds,
For the sleeping of the Shee,
My grief.

For dishonoured whitethorn-tree,
For the runes that no man reads
Where the grey stones face the sea,
My grief.

Lissakeole, that used to be
Filled with music night and noon,
For their ancient revelry,
My grief.

For the empty fairy shoon,
Hollow rath and yellow leaf,
Hands unkissed to sun or moon,
My grief—my grief!
beside.

Oneman Wolfpack