The hand of the bard has withered,
The pen has been laid aside.
The door to Faery is closing,
And dreamer's dreams have died.
Music has fallen silent,
And magic is gone from our shores.
Genuis is wrapped in mourning
As she paces the corridors.
Paces the hallways of legend,
Where man, in inspired prime,
Twisted the gossamer webbings
Of story and song and rhyme.

Grey is the rain on the tombstones,
Mingling with my tears,
As I lament the passing
Of more enlightened years.
Heavy the heart inside me,
For the lovelier things have fled,
Leaving me to a harsher world
And a place amongst the dead.


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