There were no ermine capes,
No velvet gowns and golden lace.
There were no pretty flowers fair,
Nor sweet and pungent smells in air.
The silk top hats are put away,
The bicornes saved for another day.
White cotton scarves they all worn,
Their edges frayed, their corners torn.
Processed down the pave’d lane,
One by one, they’re all the same.
Raven Guards stood side by side,
With mourning gowns as time they bide.
The Star Chamber he entered in,
They sat on chairs arranged in a ring.
A brocaded book with vellum leaves,
Dusted it with the edge of his sleeves.
The icy silence in the room,
As he prepared to read out the doom.
The world was still, the sun was dark,
The doors were shut, the space was stark.
He read “He is dead
These halls he will not longer tread
I wish his soul eternal peace
May his death give him his deserved release.”
All nodded and murmured, tears and sighs,
Pained were their hearts and wet were their eyes.
“I knew him so well, but in my arms he fell
Condolences and apologies, I bid thee good well.”
He closed the book and beckoned the Steward,
To open the doors and to lead them all forward.
Thus, they recessed, back out the Chamber,
The silence they kept as they remember.
As they walked upon that cold path,
The wind took away their scarves in the aftermath.
No velvet or ermine will satisfy the land,
All water plain, all food now bland.