Thus begins the long winter,
the tolling of the bells and the names,
but now I look its wrath in the eyes.

I have searched for a hundred years
Whittled to the bone, overgrown by silver ivy
But here, in my final resting place, you have been
And now your image lingers in my garden of respite

Why don't you stay awhile?
I'll carve your name into my burial shroud