Mourners

Meagre trees in the shrouds, As olde as the stones. Mourners of abandonåd love, Fornever their woes shall grow silent. O how many times may the moon has shone - Reflected in these black lakes? Should it be that we can hear, The woes of those who ceased their lifes? O so old they are They bare the neverending grief. Age-old miserability Ancient bitter beauty Lost is the hope of those, Who walk the moors with pain in heart. ..And all joy it sinks, Burried deep, forever presumed dead. O so old they are They bare the neverending grief Age - old miserability, A bitter beauty thrilling me