Upon the Hill

Upon the hill of carpeted moss,

Above the heaving waves 

Beneath the pallid sky

A mightily figure once raised.

With a harp in hand,

The melodies of days long past

In the gentle autumn eve

Sang he upon the hill of grass.

From far above came the hiss  

That arrows sing from their strings

And where once he reared 

No longer did he stand.

But do not weep upon this day

For although no longer he is upon the hill,

It is he who lingers in whispering memories 

And he who murmurs to me in twilight air.

Do not weep upon this day

For he is the flush of light

Who shines the dark away

And paints the morning bright.

Do not weep upon this day

For his songs hum a thousand winds

And his harmony was that of love

And it is his lessons who guide my future.

He is one of the waiting

For days once foretold

And in the battle of the great 

Once more, upon the hill will he stand.

So do not weep upon this day

For where his body is not

And his songs have gone silent

It is his memory who always lives on.