I was set to rest in a moonlit glade,
And oh how that moon still shines on me!
The precession assembled twelve eyes as one,
Each emotionless as they navigated the labyrinth of trees,
Yet Her eyes were the only ones that wept for me,
And together we wept in cold autumn tears

As I am, I am not,
So fair in rhythm, so fair at heart;
And though I need her, I know not how,
Is she, or is she not?
Forget me, my forget-me-not.

Only in a silent hour is my coil free to rest,
And, as the raven cast his feather upon me,
I could finally hear the twilight song
Echoing through this Autumn Forest;
Becoming lost in a siren’s enchanting voice,
Accompanied by lute and passing bell.

I have not seen, but heard the song
Of a choir beneath the canopy,
Though that song be broken,
I could still make out the purity
Of the voices at its core

Time has long since ebbed its flow,
And the seasons have passed into Eld,
Yet it is always as autumn to me,
And still every year, as leaves paint the ground,
She humbly weeps every autumn with me

And as our tears cascade,
Their voices still melt together,
And though that song be broken,
I can still hear its chorus echo
Hear in the autumn forest,
But I can no longer understand the words

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