Sullen and crestfallen the autumn leaves silently fell,
Mourning the loss of the pure heart set adrift within,
The bitter northern winds serving as a reticent death knell,
Grieving over the loss of the pure lass astray in deerskin.

Drawn to the forests of Myrkviðr for reasons unknown,
She wandered within the woods until all spirits were silent,
Ancient limbs reaching out to caress her delicate cheekbones,
Likening her to newborn blossoms both ****** and vibrant.

Decades have flown by like wind since that day,
Memories as faded and tattered as her deerskin,
A beautiful soul lost to time through innocent naivete,
Life continuing as it always had in the woods within.