O stone that stood when flesh was taken,
O wall that watched and did not break,
You held the sky from falling waters
Yet did not shield my hearth from death.
Where are the voices of the morning,
The feet that ran along the hall?
The hearth is cold, the Deepward silent,
And still you stand—you stand at all.
Let fire undo what hands have fashioned,
Let frost take hold of measured stone,
For walls that outlive wives and daughters
Are monuments to grief alone.
Yet if the dead yet hear the living,
If love is stronger than the grave,
Then give them back not to my seeing,
But to a world no foe may brave.
I ask no joy, I ask no glory,
I ask no crown nor final rest—
Only that stone remember flesh,
And loss be forged to guard the blessed
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