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Mourners

Meagre trees in the shrouds,

as olde as the stones....

Mourners of abandond 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 beautyLost is the hope of those,

who walk the moors with pain in heart.

...and all joy it sinks,

burried deep, forever presumed dead.

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