Far few words of the flowing fortress,

Ever enter into our ears.

It lingers in the nothing-time

And hides itself amongst our tears.

The poets that had once to sing,

Have lost their voices, time has cloaked

The jesters and those merry people,

Who, ‘fore destruction, might have joked.

But, it now breaks apart the verbs,

It now stones those women of white,

To hide away traces of joy;

It now leads them to the fight.


Past is times in dreary dungeon,

The present will be done so soon,

The future is upon us, it

Cometh closer with every moon.


The End

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