Sit among the willows
And do not bow your head
Lay low along the sweet grass
Which hides the stench of dead

Bury deep then
Your darkest thoughts
And think upon them still
As they sit with that which rots

It is not your place
To hide your face
From life which already knows it

Foe nor friend nor love long gone
You may not be guided here
The sweetest wine is dust now tasted
Lay low all which you hold dear

The simple savories you indulged
Have bled through bleeding hands
Now twice and thrice they wither
In foreign familiar lands

Take up this sword O daughter, O son
From now until your job is done
Burn twice as bright as me