Whilst drawing from her spool of white,
The Spinner spun her threads of light,
Where Virtue hid within the stride
Of stitches Hatred fortified
If but to fasten Confidence.
And then, with Valor's ambience,
His child burned old Wisdom's cord,
To quench the faith of Artifice.
But faithlessness Order abhorred.
With Chaos as its faithless lord,
What else to save good Honor's frame?
If but to aid him, Vigor came,
The Vigils bade to come the Shade,
And Justice met with Valor's bane.
And still She draws from spool of white,
Though not so brightly spins the light,
And Virtue fears the wake of years,
Where Ignorance, the son of Fright,
Is tacked upon black Hatred's stitch.
There, Darkness rose from Artifice,
Who, without Faith, is bound to fade
From all the goodness brought by Bliss.
And Order fell to Chaos's trade
Where all the light of Honor's glade
Is twice consumed by Vigils' bane.
And Death can offer no refrain,
Nor can the hope of Justice rise,
Nor can be heard Life's bitter cries.
The Spinner spins her silken thread,
No longer glowing, Shadow led.
1/8/05