by Nick Gisburne
The kingdom of the Fey, in twilight, grieves.
The last and greatest eldritch elder dies.
Her coffin, dressed with bark and autumn leaves,
Will shimmer while the stars embrace the skies.
Her name will be forgotten. This is right;
No life is more deserving than the last.
But, as we sit and weep, we ask the night
To honour what was precious, what has passed.
She gave us life. She made us what we are.
Of all the Fey, perhaps we saw the best.
Another spark will shine tonight, a star,
A glimmer, to remind us she can rest.
The dawn will come, to wipe the night away,
But something, just a piece of her, will stay.
