Mourners

Meagre trees in the shrouds
as olde as the stones....
Mourners of abandond love
fornever their woes shall grow silent

Oh how many times may the moon has shone -
reflected in these black lakes?
Should it be that we can hear
the woes of those who ceased their lifes?

Oh so old they are...
they bare the neverending grief...
Age old miserability
Ancient bitter beauty

Lost is the hope of those
who walk the moors with pain in heart
..and all joy it sinks
burried deep forever presumed dead

O so old they are...
they bare the neverending grief...
Age  old miserability
a bitter beauty thrilling me