It’s Fore Hallows at Freed Dome.
It’s Fore Hallows at Bost.
It’s Fore Hallows at Blunder.
It’s Fore Hallows at Sancts Lost.
If you have to ask,
wear a mask,
better bearer than bare
against the Nats and the Novax,
and the Fall of the Ere.
It came from Sunder,
it walks in Nomens,
and travailed the Pasiph League,
the world, the veil, the scien of Predicts,
from here and back it will leave its mark,
it will always bleed.
We member the days
Fore Hallows, it will not die.
It doesn’t long to Hate or Gilder Boom,
no matter how loud they cry.
Fore Hallows is ours, from Cycle to Pride,
and Badlands far from sun
it comes to gain the oldest harvest
and the Land, Folk, Fire that we have won.
Fore Hallows, fore State, and Trunk, and Ass,
we wear, in air, our mantles, always, from the time
fore score our face and words come frozen by this rime.
Fore Hallows never cesseeded
into the glare of blue cover, the white sheets, the plague-bare
suspended all twili, and grey,
though its treats were grim, and cold tricks came its faire
come fallen where they lay.
This is why, past the Dark we don’t member,
we will always ask
that every Cycle, tween the Poles,
that we parti-pate a Great Unmask.
Populli, Fore Hallows, ‘tend to be things
but let things not be populli, Abominate upon boght wings.
A hush wind breath blows not in the bellows
of louder miens and means thrown down,
it might be now the time of ere, and auctumn
but ne’er forget the Revolution of the Orange frown.
Fore agon the idea in the making of hollowed leaves a crown,
and member that Fall every populli shows and knows
that the Precedent wears no clothes.
Recall the Broken Star on a stalk of holly,
cover your breath, but not your eyes from this great old folly.
Fore Hallows now Hindsight,
Fore Hallows the Festive of the Open Track,
Fore Hallows for good or ill,
let it be the begun again of the Doom of Amarak.
© Matthew Kirshenblatt, 2020