The bells on his hat play a soulless tune

As his empty gaze contemplates the stars.

The One he loves is up there somewhere

Smiling down at him from afar.

They have been through Hell together,

And they’ve each been through Hell on their own.

Yet they’ve shared a peaceful campfire or two,

Even made the Heavens their home.

Now he’s no more than a skeleton

Dressed in his jester’s attire.

He lifts a dead hand and summons his magic:

A small, feeble flicker of fire.

Gone are the Songs of Power,

The visions and all of the rest.

He’d lost them all in the great fall

From the Heavens; he must’ve failed some test.

They had gone from celestial companions

To Goddess and High Priest.

His current incarnation, while lowly,

Didn’t bother Her in the least.

But HE still saw the difference:

His hopes and dreams had crumbled;

He’d been stripped of the chance he had prayed for;

The Sylvan God had been humbled.

He raises his face to the stars once again

And whispers his prayer of love:

“I gladly shed my tears of blood

Knowing You’re happy in Your place above.”