Mourning's Fate
The Land of Mourning is covered by the Melancholy Mists,
which breeds Despair into the heart and on domination it insists,
The people of Mourning have no idea how to rid this plague,
And of every hero that comes by the inhabitants thus beg,
But the Melancholy Mists soon pierce the hearts of even the bold,
They grow weary of their burden and rapidly grow old,
Some turn to stone, some wander lost, some even turn to trees,
Come see and I will show you that which is the state of each of these,
First we come to a desolate place, the Forest of the Stones-of no-Resolve,
In this land, the warped statues were once humans who have now devolved,
They lacked the will to deal with the pain that the Mists cause,
Turning inward, they hardened outward, and grew stone armor and claws,
They sit with rage and hatred for shields; weathering storms, yes, they still abide,
But if they stay too long without feeling, their hearts grow cold and hard inside.
Now to those lost, doddering fools named The Knights of Infinite Resignation,
They are all armored and brandishing blades, yet there's been no assignation,
Not one knows how to deal with the Mist, so they sally forth but stop and stall,
Instead of finding a solution, they wander aimlessly accomplishing nothing at all,
Then to the Lake of Weeping Dreamers we must turn our attention to see,
Souls so long forlorn, unmoving by the lake, that their bodies have turned into trees,
The willows cry for the state of the world and each leaf dropping to the water is a tear,
But time wears on and the Mists still lies and they stoop there year after year,
Do you feel all is lost? Will no heroes come forth? Who will take the miasma away?
Well beware my friends there are many other roads and where they all lead I can't say,
But one cottage there is where the Spinners live and they have managed to cope,
For they have learned to weave sorrow into wisdom and thereby have gained hope,
They take the Mist and sew a quilt made for sleeping under Dreams of Warning,
Then awake and, preparing breakfast on a tablecloth, they turn Mourning into Morning.