The immortal grief over mortal love. From the same world as yesterday’s actually.

A flower grows by the old linden tree
Quiet and lovely, though subtle to see.
The standing stones their vigil keep
And every year he comes to weep.

Not at her grave, which he cannot reach
But by the linden and neighboring beech
There they stood, long years ago
And spoke their vows where God would know.

And as the years passed away
They would meet at break of day.
Their sons grew bold, strong and true
Though little they their father knew.

Still he came often as he could
To that linden in the wood.
And when her death came at last
Still he comes to mourn the past.

There he leaves small gifts to find
As his sons grew older with time.
His grandsons round the linden play
And carry his boons as they may.

Each year he comes her death to mourn
And watch his line in strength reborn.
Perhaps one day, when worlds draw near
He will join them year on year.

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