I stand alone, the wind in my hair.
Delicate claws sink into my skin;
my clothing is tattered, my flesh bare.
Atop my shoulder, a bird black as night
with baleful cries to stir me from rest.
Dry grass crackles under the moonlight.
Mountains rise and fall like tides in the earth,
Kings and empires crumbled to dust, wash away
the years they saw for all their eyes are worth.
As I look out on this dead field I recall;
a throne I once sat, white cities and green lands,
and now this bird’s black eyes watching all.