Of Dëanna
Hear the words the prophets tell,
of ancient deeds, both hale and fell;
and of rumors from above,
of faith, and hope, and yea! of love –
On earth ‘twas none so fair that dwelt
as Dëanna, pure as snow-melt.
Her voice in laughter through the mist,
as joy and bright unsullied bliss;
of valiant heart and pure was she,
who lived of every hindrance free.
Her spirit flowed as rippling brooks,
tho’ in her wake foundations shook.
The echoes bounce from moor to hill,
to fen and wood before they spill.
When finally off to heaven borne,
the earth in silence then will mourn;
and when her memory comes to naught,
o’er lesser souls will wars be fought.
But though to ruin round about
the world may fall, turned inside out,
I will rejoice that, for a while,
my eyes beheld Dëanna’s smile.