Moon’s silent beam breaks into these windows,
Unfolding truth in its pitch-black shadow,
Bare coffin’s filled with memories of yore,
Deep into the heart of thy weary love’s barrow.
Gentle, cold whisper that kisses thy skin,
Saddens the rhythm of pouring rain,
Heard from afar is thy man that sings,
A song of surrender of hope, of pain.
Lit roseate candle to honor thy man,
Hath dying flame after years of burning,
The song heard from afar is gone,
And the sky weeps in November, raining.