by Max Leyf

Dying Ember

A dying ember swallowed up by grey
A swansong born on golden pinions bright
Is sung the solemn psalm of fateful night
Of the hero who had held our plight at bay,

Who with single hand had mastered Winter’s sway
Now fallen with the fading of the light
A shadow only of his onetime might
An echo only of the glorious day

A fading echo, yet I will take it in
And like a secret, I will guard and tend
This kernel whence the age to come begins.

Forth its leaves and golden boughs to send —
I know the secret: the god shall rise again
Whose reign shall last until the world’s end.