The Mourning of the Virgins

Three mouths and maidens three spake ‘neath the ancient bough,
None understood the word, nor stayed on Ferud’s brow.
Seven days those seven syllables of blight did chime,
No strength was left to vomit grief in that dark time.

Upon the earth’s bare breast they laid a trembling hand,
The gloom they saw forbade the morrow in that land.
From Sanderna’s frame the youthful spirit did depart,
While twain sought shelter in the forest’s darkling heart.

Toward the ancient soil of Iranarious they fled,
For only that great Lord could save them from the dead.
From Tellawick’s grim curse they sought in vain to fly,
Yet did they strive while from their breasts the fires did cry.