Carefully she sews her web,
A coffin for her emotion,
A place to lay her crestfallen head,
And rest her dead devotion.

Draw nigh, knight sky,
Pale moon begins to wane,
Cover land in ebon feather,
And blanket all her pain.

Slowly she lifts her fang,
And plunge it in her girth,
Venom Doubt seeping in,
Destroying all love's worth.

But lo', endure
Faith's spiderweb tress,
She'll hang her head in hope,
And her love she doth profess.

Pray tell, Nameless,
Who you be?
Leave not this widow to wonder.
For if you are him she seeks,
Linger in shadow no longer.

Penned by my hand on the 20th of Chronos, in the year 416 AF.