Gilraen's Lament
by Vané Alasse

The wind is moaning lowly o'er the plain
And whispering the memory of a name
That can no longer hear its yearning cry
Or listen for its soft, caressing sigh.

Gracing a final sleep in hither halls
The leaves about your grave do slowly fall
And caught by little breezes swirl and play
And fade as does the growing twilight grey.

My love, I saw them lay you down to rest
Beneath the earth: a silent silhouette.
How cold your face, so wan and pale;
How did you life, so vibrant, quickly fail?

You cannot hear my voice now when I call
It rises vainly to a peak and falls
In broken chords of anguish and forgets
I must now live without you or regrets.