Four crowns did flame in summer’s arms
And kept our children safe from harm.
The wreath that gamed on carvéd bones
Now rolls them ‘neath forgotten stones

 Three crowns did burn in spring’s green hair
And laughed and danced with maidens fair.
The garland wove of shade and gloom
Now beds our youth inside his tomb.

 Two crowns did glow in autumn’s den
And counselled war to wiser men
The laurel seeking fickle Fame;
Now falls below to claw and flame.

 One crown did dim in winter’s breath
And watched the sweeping scythe of Death.
The circlet gold and mithril spun
Now dances ‘mongst the burning suns.

How sour the wine.  How stale the bread
How cold, how barren lie our beds.
For if four Kings could surely die …
What does that say for you and I?

The Labyrinth of Forgotten Kings

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