An Elegy for Sivriel


Dear Mother,
You were loved.
Enshrined in Moonhart's circle,
Grandfather kept up high
a painting
of you and your sisters,
a trio of eternal maidens.

I oft gazed upon you there;
now I barely recall
summer scent and silver hair.

I'm sorry. I knew not
the loss of a distant star.
By brief and bright kinship,
I was your daughter, and thus
I was his too. Nigh-all
affection subsumed by devotion
to Her sublime silver light.

He immortalized you
fresh on canvas, deep in stone,
and in offerings cast
in Her frozen crystal pool--
for I knew
they were as much for you.

Rest well, dear Sivriel.