Hurry now, Sister
The spiteful morning sun awakes
The weight of the sky's grey eyes
Grows heavy upon our crowns
Left for plunder are all the dark roses
We had gathered for our gardens
The day waxes, scorching our bodies
Your wilting hand will not impede
Its wrathful trumpeting
Night, who had hid us away
Has left us to be consumed
The tears we shed scar our cheeks
Sleep now, Sister
Our ruin dances complete
Watch the sovereign vaunt
Where are the stars that lit our forest paths?
They have been outshone
Where is Death? He comes with hand outstretched
M.M. — Maius MMX; edited September MMX, December MMXI
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