My Abby of Tintern hath been wrought Bedecked with the treasures he hath brought The beauty of surroundings almost too painful to see He single handedly forms both gilt and lily I watch the color dance as the sun rises each day Alas, I fear like the sun it will all be taken away Before this joy I was content, every want fully met Now that status would fell like a begger's debt In his silence I hear birds never heard before But I also hear a quiteness, something more My sweet prince has something to say or ask But fears laughter breaking through this happy mask From these halls of beauty and ruins grand I'm fearful of what those wicked Fates hath planned If I were blessed with choice and control I'd have it out Calming both our fears, quelling any and every doubt Is it meant that the gold shall crack and peel? Or are hearts meant chip and heal? If like the Norse the Fates plunder what hath been built Does the future of the lily match the fate of the gilt?