Beloved, behold the splendid and blazing star in the morn,
As the sweltering rays caressed the ground and burst forth its mourn.
There were dust, I gazed, beyond my firm sight that form and  born;
Oh, t’was a legion of skeleton marching with clutching horns.

A breath of life and rotten scent hovers the land of thorn,
My eyes urged to forbid; some sleep in the bones of lorn.
I hearken the thunder descending from the hill that torn,
Avast, tissue covered the bones and glowing robe they worn.

Truly, what a great aim of glory they shout and sawn;
Rues forgotten and runes sung from the lips of a living sworn.
Steered by the unseen fiery wind and a holy zeal burns,
Behold, eyes couldn’t see and ears couldn’t hear, yet, they warn.


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