Caer SidiBoard

They wrote their songs in twirling ashes
They sung while grey stone once white stood still
Besides the fires and the structures
like the ribs of a long dead sailor
Whose ship has not danced well with the sea
Her blue dress had swept the halls
Not of dust by of the days spent in it
On it, driftwood homes two metres flat

and once where hope began
and was nurtured in the nest
amongst silver halcyon days
there now lies a barren memory
and a good tracker can see dear hope's flight

And who will walk these places now?
Those who settled have gone or do not beat
and those that beat upon the flesh of the earth have gone
and where silver rays shone through windows rippled
and the robin's cry heralded a great many joys,
that light is jagged now. It spills and tumbles and stabs and knows not where it is

Limbs are twitching. They twitched once before, a great many of them
They twitch again, long and slender and shaking.

Some, who have sought other shelters,
do whisper the names of Minatal and do cry
and they wish to cry in other halls
where the light is known and the walls talk of greatness and memory

Perhaps in the baskets of each day, will not come hope
will come another burden, that a certainty and of duty.

All this remains to be seen.