Manné has been sleeping,
since the cold captured him,
a late Autumn night.  

The sympathies were many,
but now I am alone.
Ice and Fire knows nothing of his passing,
yet the same sun shines on them.

Does she shine on you,
my closest friend?
Manné, have you fallen?

I turn at night.
Questions without answers.
Answers without questions.
Will he wake? Will he rise again?
Will he, in the warmth of spring,
again be my tumbling rock?

- Jean DeWire, 1913

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