She stood there in the window,
Wearing a Venetian mask,
Regal dress let no skin show,
But that which did was polished brass.
She asked me in her glory,
“Do you serve the Forest Lord?”
I paused to ponder fully,
But when I looked she was no more.
Silence at the masquerade,
Echoes from the palisade,
Cannons for the cannonade,
In defiance of the Lord.
I woke to morning dreary,
She was standing in the mirror,
Again she spoke her query,
As I watched with creeping terror.
“Do you serve the Forest Lord?”
I could fathom no response,
“What answer do you hope for?”
But as I spoke this she was gone.
Silence at the masquerade,
Echoes from the palisade,
Cannons for the cannonade,
In defiance of the Lord.
In my handheld looking-glass,
Once again there I did see,
Piercing eyes, beneath a mask,
And once again she asked of me:
“Do you serve the Forest Lord?”
But my courage had been found,
So I flung it to the floor,
And it shattered upon the ground.
Silence at the masquerade,
Echoes from the palisade,
Cannons for the cannonade,
In defiance of the Lord.
She arose from the glass shards,
What she spoke filled me with dread,
“You serve not the Forest Lord,
So you will serve ‘neath me instead.”
Worries slowly disappeared,
As I dropped onto a knee,
No longer did I feel fear,
For molten brass in my heart beat.
Silence at the masquerade,
Echoes from the palisade,
Cannons for the cannonade,
In defiance of the Lord.