Evensong
A golden city in the desert sands,
Where from the west a faintly orange light
Illuminates strong walls and towers bright,
And where an ancient royal palace stands.
Where in a soundless room an incense bowl
Sends fragrant scents behind the curtained place
To where, beneath a silver, weary face,
In his last slumber rests a golden soul.
A breeze of light sneaks in to where he lies
To offer comfort, unshed tears to dry,
And when with tender arms approaches death
At last, the servants hear a silenced sigh.
Bells then begin to sing their mournful cries-
The orphaned golden city holds its breath.