The lady on her throne so fair
Soft as gold and silken hair
Distant from the subtle grass
Of the field that shines as glass

Concerned with grief, times of war
She hastens to an older lore
Consumed by myth and at a loss
Depth exceeds her merry gloss

Her eyes once glistened, two clear streams
But decades of time, countless dreams
She leaves a past, once glory, fame
Unto a life of bitter shame

Who now shall save the golden stone?
Upon her heart once bliss had shone
From where shall come her spirit crossed?
Or love perhaps, once always lost