Morgion - The Mourner`s Oak


Here, they shall gather
Among its bows and hither
In the spring or summer sun,
Bright are the voices they carry

Deep in the earth, its roots doth run
How long has it been, how long shall it be?

Vast does its reach extend
Season after season been
His feet no longer travel,
His mind now steps his bounds
The forest now his flesh,
His bones to the earth in dust

Nothing, nothing but time to keep him restless
Slowly, slowly aware of his suffering

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