Ever to lie in a bed of stone,
With no bright colours to lessen your doom,
Utterly, entirely alone.
Once so merry, now cold and grey,
Lost in a land of bad.
No sun, no sky, no wind, no rain,
No one that is not mad.
Your new friends are spirits of your kind,
That darken innocent people's doors,
I expect you've already joined their gambols,
Haunting the dreary moors.
Once so good, now closed in by evil,
Forgotton by all - but I -
I weep to see your mouldy grave,
The dust in which you lie.
Forget me not, wild spirit,
Haunt other people's doors,
But remember, I'll never forget you,
You tyrant of the moors.
Source: Poemhunter
