fallen in Fall Crown Tourney, A.S. XXVI
The hourglass lies canted on the field,
Its ruby grains escaping through the cracks.
Just so the blood of Thomas Blackkeep spilled
To pool upon the earth in twain attacks.
Attila dealt an injury at first
That surely seemed to stop time in its flow -
Then Timothy drove home with one far worse
That smashed a fragile hope with killing blow.
Marina cups her true love's head with hands
That strive to stay the flow that stains her gown.
As likely might she stem the tide of sands
That spill unhindered to the hard, cold ground.
A gallant fighter's time has come and gone.
A soul departs, a memory lives on.
-- Philippa Llewelyn Schuyler