Dark habits pressed in a somber row,
They watch the light of a fading sky,
Beneath the weight of an ancient woe,
Where memories fade but never die.
A single crown of golden lace,
Stands out amidst the shroud of night,
Illuminating an elder's face,
With fragments of a sacred light.
They hold the line of a forgotten age,
Steeped in the folklore of the stone,
Turning a dark and silent page,
Together, yet each one alone.