The maiden sang,
She sang till her voice turned hoarse,
She sang till all it was,was a creaky rasp,
When she could not speak,she whispered,
When the grief took over her,she wept,
But she didnt stall.

The sang first, to the gods,
Sang of her mans deeds,
Told them of his gentle heart,
Told them of his heart which healed every breath it heard,
She told them of his embers which resided amongst the serene waters of purity, which flowed through his veins
She sang to them,to plead,
To gift him a peaceful afterlife amongst them,
One worthy of him,
Of her sapphire eyed, dark haired warrior.

And after that,
at last,
She sang to him,
Her lover,
The man who'd seen her for who she was and not what she stood for,
For the girl with a heart and not a prized mare , not maiden to pursue for land,
For her.