Beloved, behold the splendid and blazing star in the morn’
As the sweltering rays caress the ground and burst forth its mourn.
There were dust, I gaze, 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.