Alone you fell, in reeds so thin,
No witnesses, no mourning hymn.
No Flame's embrace, no golden glow,
Just silence where the waters flow.

No sacrifice, no noble end,
No deeds for which you've earned commend.
The winds forgot your fleeting shape,
No soot, no smoke, no grand escape.

What use were wings? What use was flight?
No embers chased away the night.
No funeral rites, no Righteous pyre,
Just death without the gift of Fire.

Two ghosts adrift with not a name,
No cinder's kiss, no warmth to claim.
No tongues to speak on your behalf,
No words upon your epitaph.

Penned by my hand on the 18th of Phaestian, in the year 967 AF.