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The caves beneath the highest peaks are set
in sculpted granite caked with woven ice,
each filament a proof for tears unshed
in daylight, where the land wears masks of lies.

Pietra dura flowers on all walls
won’t need a caring hand to stay in bloom,
though they will never see a soul that calls
for scenting rosebuds in a spring of gloom.

Her perfumed presence seems to haunt these halls
reminding bats and voles what has been lost,
I rage in darkness till the daylight falls,
but can't prevail against the bitter frost.

Her vault is guarded by frozen flame,
arraigned with seven stars spelled in the sky,
that bear forevermore her secret name,
burning my heart until the seas run dry.
Never sigh for a better world it`s already composed, played and told

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