We saw her walk untouched by the ravaging feud;
we hoped to be her, blind to her dark solitude.
While we fought and cried, and then wished to turn back time,
she trudged ahead beside her only solitude;
and when we died, we went down together at break,
and then she’ll die, in the strong arms of Solitude.
Clandestine paths, they skirt the battle grounds edges,
the frontiers which part for her long solitude.
How far do you trudge along sordid banks of Woe,
to trust her last resort of banal solitude.