---

Of oak ash and thorn

Fur hooves and horn

The embers still glow

Off the sheen of the snow

Our bones know this cold

From the days of old

We bare the mark

But darkness encroaches

And soon will enshrine

Like smothering tendrils

Dead on the vine

Knowing what must be done

To return to the sun

But there is no more life

on the surface to be found

We bare the mark