In times, when I fain of a season Itcs chill hold me wist, of an unknown reason Greyness upon streams parlous and cool Sheer the light which reflects from Plenilune Ready to tale stars of wan, as both forwandered, And loath the ways thee all ran astounded So did thine glaive rust with wind and water So terrified of fallow thee roamed to gutter Perhaps the fragments of thine willing skin Saw no reflections of, what it called a bale king Neither have Fall's shades descended to leaves Of no nightbird's ashes belong to mine needs Together a battle raged between moon, Likely the escorts of an velvect son. One lode led to forhungered wood, The frith were dark and thus thou run As I see nothing but mere piece of meat, Trying to achieve as vision holds lack. Hanging upon wold, not wist the made plead, Twisting in gloam, this path fares not back... Thus... Of no nightbird's ashes shall I devour.