Ossale Memorare

If Alex was coming home again,
if Lassic came then went,
I'd spend my days in happiness
until my time was spent.

For months and more I'd gladly wait
for the rightful king's return.
Like patient rust on castle gates
I'd bide while seasons turned.

I'd flit away the passing years
and count them on my hand
until the years all died like tears
in the dry Motaviland.

The decades fast away would pass,
as immortal men might say,
like water through an hourglass;
a century, a day!

But Alex is never coming home;
his shadow rules instead.
Sweet Alex, soft as Dezo's snows,
now just as cold, and dead.