There was a man—a songbird, a lark
Born the son of song and dawn
He could bend the trees to kneel
All with notes he had drawn

But he only sang for one to hear
On the land, above ground
His voice could stretch, to the depths
It was honey, the sound

He loved a woman—his rose
To his song, she danced and turned
He sang to her with joy, then anguish
A bite, a wilt, and then he yearned.

On the river, the rose did flow
His eyes on it, not a tear shed
A lyre’s string—she was plucked
“It happens, love. Forever dead.”

“Not you and I,” my voice responds
King of the umbra, the dark crown turns
To me—his heart, his wife, his cursed queen
Before his hand could reach, it burns

The fire of the underground, it roars
Raging flames dancing, a fellow’s fool
The songbird runs in—still alive
Dares to call the shadow king cruel

Cruel for taking his heart, his rose
He sings a song of agony, of love
Notes spell hope, and hope he does
Now the lark is like a dove

The feather, it longs for his petal
His missing piece, his heart so dear
He sings and sings, and shows his hurt
But my love acts blind, the truth I fear

His song pitters, like the last rain
And there he stands, so tall, so meek
I dare not look at the dark crown—
Oh, heart—a creek flows upon his cheek

“You may go,” he says, as hard as stone
“Take her with you, but this you hear.
Walk in front, her in back. If you turn,
I vow—in a breath, she returns here.”

Off he flies, with his rose in tow
What love they share, despite it all.
What love they have—it is still fall
Last spring, it was—I cannot recall.

How long it feels, the cold and dark,
How cold he feels, ice in my heart.
Never has he sang to me, like a bird.
In his scheme, I am a cog, a part.

He never asked for my hand, to wed
He took me from the Earth above
He never asked for my heart, to have
He just takes, like the rose of the dove

I wish, I pray, for a love Nature blesses
To grow a field of flowers and more,
For the heart, but without the shade.
And never housed beneath Earth’s floor

Across the waves, the petal floats
I feel the tremble of the ground
Her last words echo in the dark:
“Farewell, my lark, my love, my sweet sound

Farewell.”