Words overwrought, stay for fallen Moonleaf,
Simple of Beorn’s first rose he to call
of Mother’s duty, mending her ancient weave
with blue birds song and whipporwill the wall
against temples foul entropy until
winds chilled, darkening autumnal skies
in icy shafts of hail did claim the kill
of copper’d veins and Black Jay’s child; why
Warren? Except in passing say to teach
the spiral’d trace of sad palms drop doth speak
of darkness rising, plain words to fair reaches
for patched walls, arms rais’d to ward the weak.
Now rest, Celene’s young veil, your work be done;
your lesson taught, our geas yet begun.
Ales Day, Brewfeast CY 586: Epitaph to Moonleaf
June 1, 2009 by Michael Drennan
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